


Lost and Found

by Smediterranea



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming of Age, F/M, Father-Son Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:20:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 76,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24357184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smediterranea/pseuds/Smediterranea
Summary: Chief Hakoda and his men are out on patrol when they encounter a surprise: an injured boy alone on the ice.Hakoda brings him back to the South Pole, but keeping this boy alive may be dangerous in ways Hakoda had not anticipated...A canon-divergent story where Zuko comes of age with the Southern Water Tribe with his only two friends in the world: Sokka and Katara.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 460
Kudos: 2085





	1. Prologue: The Lost Child

It has been a long journey back to the South Pole, but Hakoda and his men take their time. While most are eager to push through the storm to see their wives and children, Hakoda knows that it is not worth the risk. They had returned to check a report of a Fire Nation ship close to the village, but there had been no sign of it yet. Still, the enemy could be hiding out here, biding their time. The warriors of the Southern Water Tribe had to move carefully through the stormy seas.

They make landfall just north of where the ship had been spotted. They fan out, looking for signs of life. Hakoda sees nothing but a skinny rabbit-fox scampering across the ice. He makes to turn back to the ships — he may not have a wife to return to, but he desperately misses his children — when he notices the rabbit-fox is tugging on something white. Something _moving_.

Hakoda gives a whistle, and he and his men creep towards the rabbit-fox, who hisses at them to stay back from its quarry. When it opens its mouth, the white fur on which it had been tugging falls, and Hakoda can see that it is not an another animal, but the hood of a coat. The hood falls back, revealing inky black hair and the edges of a mottled scar.

The men surge forward, surrounding the prone figure with their spears. The rabbit-fox dashes away in fright, abandoning its prize.

“Show yourself,” Hakoda demands.

The body twitches and groans, but cannot seem to move. Hakoda circles around to see its face. His stomach drops.

A boy, and a gravely injured one at that.

One eye is swollen shut, purple with bruising. The other is scarred — the same scar Hakoda had seen under the hood covers half of the boy’s face. Hakoda cannot see signs of blood of other injury, but the boy is curled up in pain. Hakoda suspects broken ribs at least, and the glassy look on the boy’s face indicates that hypothermia has set in.

Hakoda looks back up at his men, who exchange uneasy glances. This is not what they had expected.

“What in the name of Tui and La is a child doing out here alone?” Bato asks. “And in white furs no less. Only an idiot would wear white furs in a snow drift.”

“Or a foreigner,” Kanaaq adds. 

Murmuring erupts around the group. Could this be a soldier from the Fire Nation ship reported nearby?

Hakoda examines the boy more closely. There are no outward indicators of who this person might be — no military garb or traditional Fire Nation clothing — but the furs he wears look thick and plush. Whoever he is, he comes from money.

“If he _is_ Fire Nation, shouldn’t we….?”

An uncomfortable silence descends. The men turn to Hakoda.

“We don’t kill children,” Hakoda says firmly. “Take him back to the village.”

Hakoda can tell that some of the men question this approach, but his orders are final. To hurt a child would make them no better than the Fire Nation. Besides, this boy may be of use to them. Hakoda may abhor violence and cruelty to children, but he is not above ransom. If a rich boy is stupid enough to sail into dangerous waters, his family would pay for his safe return, and the Southern Water Tribe would use the funds.

The men return to the village greeted by cheers. They leap from their canoes and rush to meet their families. Hakoda does not stop them from their moment of joy. He himself is preoccupied with his own children. Sokka is practically levitating with excitement, slashing his boomerang through the air to demonstrate his newfound skills. Katara, on the other hand, gloms on to Hakoda’s side and refuses to let go, laughing at her brother’s antics. It is only after a long moment passes that Hakoda remembers the sleeping boy in a supply canoe.

Bato helps lift the boy out onto the ice, the villagers watching in stunned silence. There is an awkward pause.

“Where should we put him, Chief Hakoda?”

Hakoda had not entirely thought this through. There was no real prison in the Southern Water Tribe village — they had never really had a need for one — and it seemed imprudent to leave the boy without supervision. He required some amount of medical care, but it was going to be difficult to persuade anyone to help him. Even with his battered face, Hakoda could see now that this boy had Fire Nation written all over him. 

“Bring him to my yurt,” Hakoda says. He can hear the whispers in the crowd — shock that the chief would choose to house a prisoner — but Hakoda can’t see an alternative. This way, he can keep an eye on the boy and formulate a plan.

Sokka and Katara follow closely behind, bursting with questions.

“Who is he?”

“Where did he come from?”

“What’s his name?”

“Do you think he’s got a sword on him?”

“Of course he doesn’t have a sword, Sokka. He’s a kid, like us.”

“Yeah, but he’s Fire Nation, isn’t he? Maybe he’s from that ship we saw! Fire Nation kids probably get swords as soon as they can walk so they can learn to kill people.”

Katara’s eyes go wide.

“Dad, is he going to _hurt_ us?”

“Listen to me,” Hakoda says, kneeling to face his children. They stand before him, obedient and silent for once. “We don’t know who this boy is, or why he is here. You will need to keep a close watch on him. He does not have any weapons,” he adds quickly, seeing Sokka’s expression. Hakoda chooses to omit the fact that he had, in fact, discovered the sheath to dual dao blades on the boy’s person, but the blades themselves had been missing.

“What I need you to do,” Hakoda continues, “is to make sure he is safe. We can use this boy for information, but we need him unharmed. But if you suspect _anything_ is wrong, if he tries to flee or hurt you in _any_ way, you must tell me at once. Do you understand?”

Katara and Sokka nod vigorously.

“Good,” Hakoda says. “Now, I’m sure you have some questions —“

He barely finishes before Katara and Sokka erupt again.

“Where did you find him?”

“Was he by himself?”

“Did you have to fight off Fire Nation soldiers?”

“Is _he_ a Fire Nation soldier?”

“Can we wake him up to ask him questions?”

“What should we ask him first?”

“Probably if he likes stewed sea prunes. That’s what Gran-Gran says we’re having for dinner.”

Hakoda sighs. This day has not quite turned out the way he expected.

—

The Fire Nation boy does not wake for some time. Katara tries wafting the scent of stewed sea-prunes towards him to no avail.

“Guess he doesn’t like sea prunes,” she says primly, looking affronted at their guest’s lack of interest.

Hakoda is surprised by his children’s reactions to the prisoner. Katara, who Hakoda has always seen as the more tender-hearted of his children, is surprisingly cold. It is Sokka who checks frequently on their charge, often using the excuse that he is checking to see if the boy is still breathing.

“We won’t get any information out of a dead guy,” Sokka says in his usual confident tone.

But Hakoda sees the look of concern on Sokka’s face when he checks on the injured boy. Sometimes the boy lets out a whimper of pain, and Sokka’s expression grows tight with worry. Katara, on the other hand, seems unaffected.

A year after Kya’s death, Sokka and Katara had brought home an injured rabbit-fox pup. It had mewled and shivered all night, but Katara and Sokka had been determined. Sokka had talked excitedly about all the tricks he would teach his new pet, and Katara had cooed over how cute it was. It lived for two days, but it was too young to survive without its mother, too weak to drink the bison-yak’s milk the children tried to feed it. Sokka had raged and cried, but Katara had been strangely calm. At the time, Hakoda had just thought this was the emotional maturity that women innately possessed, but now he thinks it was something else.

Katara refuses to look at the boy bundled in furs. When Sokka tries guessing more about who the boy might be, she chastises him.

“We shouldn’t care who he is. Dad’s going to send him back as soon as he can. Right, Dad?”

Hakoda’s heart twists. He forgets that his children notice everything, and feel more than he gives them credit for. Katara does not want to grow attached to this injured boy. Worse than that, he can tell she equates him with the men who had killed Kya. Hakoda does not entirely blame her for this, but it is hard to think of this boy as a killer when he shivers so pitifully.

They are about to settle in for the night when Sokka, exuberantly recounting his great adventures in Hakoda’s absence, forgets about the boy's presence and trips over him. The smell of sea prunes may not have roused him, but a kick to the ribs seems to do the trick. The boy gasps in pain, curling more tightly in on himself. 

“Sorry!” cries Sokka. “It was an accident!”

The boy breathes heavily, his eyes shut against the pain. Hakoda places a hand on Sokka’s shoulder to calm him, while Katara moves closer to inspect the boy.

“Hey, can you hear me?” she asks, her tone distrustful. “Are you okay?”

“ _Mother_.”

The boy’s voice is raspy and slurred, but his intention is obvious. Hakoda has seen men of all ages cry out for their mothers when in pain. It’s not something he finds easy to hear, even with his experience.

Sokka, already upset at having caused trouble, doesn’t seem to notice the boy’s plaintive plea, but Katara goes rigid.

“Mother,” the boy rasps again. “ _Help_. Come back.”

Katara’s blue eyes widen in horror. Hakoda intervenes, turning to Kanna for help. 

“Take the children to get ready for bed.”

Katara, for all her earlier disinterest of the boy, now seems loathe to leave his side. Hakoda supposes the she, of all children, could relate to a boy who just wanted to see his mother again. Kanna has a bit of trouble getting Sokka and Katara to go clean their teeth while Hakoda tries to talk the boy.

It’s of no use. The boy is barely conscious, and soon his breathing slows again. Hakoda does not get to ask the boy more questions the next day, either. The boy sleeps and sleeps, and soon Hakoda and the men must leave for a brief hunting trip.

When Hakoda was a boy and life was better for the Southern Water Tribe, hunters would only leave for a day. But now the warriors must spend most of the year patrolling the waters, making allies to fight the Fire Nation. In their few weeks on the ice every year, they needed to hunt as much as possible for the women, children, and elders they left behind. They chased herds of moose-elk for days at a time to get a large enough haul to preserve.

When Hakoda and his warriors return four days later, the boy is awake, but very weak. As Hakoda walks towards his family’s hut, Katara jabbers nonstop about her patient.

“He won’t say much, but we think he’s Sokka’s age,” she informs Hakoda seriously. “His eye is less puffy, but he got hit on the head and there was a big bump we tried to keep elevated. He gets really mad if you try to touch his scar though, so don’t do that. Gran-Gran thinks his ribs are broken, but we can’t really tell. He doesn’t like being touched, but he’ll let you if you talk to him really quietly for a while. But as soon as you poke him to try to tell which rib it is, he gets all shouty.”

“He shouted at you?”

“Well, he shouted at Sokka. He was the one who poked him.”

“Sokka!” Hakoda says sternly as his son appears at the yurt’s doorway. “You should not be hurting that boy.”

“I wasn’t trying to!” Sokka protests. “Gran-Gran said she wanted to check his ribs, so I thought I’d try. He laughs at my jokes sometimes, so I thought maybe he’d let me do it.”

“He doesn’t _laugh_ , Sokka,” Katara says, rolling her eyes.

“Yes, he does! That snorting noise he makes totally counts.”

Before his children can completely side-track him, Hakoda holds up his hands.

“I need to talk to this boy alone. Can I trust you two to stand guard outside?”

A good parenting trick Hakoda has learned is to give his children a sense of importance. They nod solemnly and stand at attention outside the door. There’s no real need for a guard, but it stops them from arguing with each other like always.

The boy is propped up against some furs, and he twitches nervously as Hakoda approaches. Hakoda can see the boy’s golden eyes flashing in the low light. No question this boy is Fire Nation.

“What is your name?” Hakoda asks, his voice quiet but firm.

The boy says nothing, staring down at his hands.

“How did you get to the South Pole? You must be very far from home.”

Silence. 

Hakoda decides the boy might need some reassuring.

“You are safe. We do not hurt children here.”

“I’m not a child.”

The boy’s voice is still raspy, but a little deeper than Hakoda had expected. He looks at the boy more closely.

“Maybe not,” Hakoda agrees. “You must be what, fourteen?”

“I’m almost fifteen,” the boy says in a sullen tone. Hakoda has to suppress his amusement. Sokka is the same about his age, always trying to sound older.

“Your family must be worried about you,” Hakoda tries.

Curiously, the boy’s face shutters. His eyes, still downcast, are distant.

“They don’t care about me.”

“Did you run away from home?”

The boy shrinks back and says nothing. Another strange response. 

Hakoda resigns himself to the fact that this boy will be difficult to break. It’s tempting to push, but every time he considers a more aggressive tone, the sight of the scar across the boy’s face gives him pause. To be so young with such an injury… something had happened to this boy, something that had rightfully put his guard up. Hakoda cannot help but pity this boy. He may see himself as a man, but Hakoda only sees a child. If Sokka or Katara had been burned like that…

“Very well,” Hakoda says finally, rising to stand. “If you do not wish to tell me your name, what would you like to be called? It is difficult to speak to someone with no name.”

The boy looks taken aback.

“Um… Lee?”

“All right, Lee,” Hakoda nods. “You should know that I meant it when I said you were safe here. But if any harm should befall my children, or anyone in this village, by your hand… you will have much to answer to. Do I make myself clear?”

Hakoda does not actually fear this child while he is still weak, but Hakoda is no fool. This boy had been armed at some point, and it was said that the Fire Nation trained children from birth to fight for the Firelord. Once this ‘Lee’ had recuperated, he could cause unspeakable damage.

Fortunately, Lee looks terrified at Hakoda’s threat.

“I won’t hurt anyone,” he says in a small voice.

“Good.”

Hakoda moves to leave, but the boy speaks again, as quietly as before.

“Why did you help me? You could have just left me out on the ice.”

“I told you,” Hakoda repeats, this time in a gentle tone. “We do not hurt children here.”

Lee hugs his knees to his chest, his golden eyes glimmering with a hint of tears. Hakoda is tempted more than ever to ask about the scar, but he knows that patience is the right path.

“Would you like me to let Katara and Sokka back in?” he asks Lee.

Lee looks startled.

“But… don’t you think I’d hurt them?”

“Are you going to hurt them?”

“No!”

“I believe you,” Hakoda says gravely. “But it must be lonely in here. Perhaps you want company?”

Lee shrugs, wincing a bit at the movement. He tries to look casual, picking at a loose thread on his blankets.

“I’m used to being alone.”

Tui and La, what had _happened_ to this poor boy?

“We have a saying in the south,” Hakoda says slowly. “Solitude not sought is a curse. Our connections with others is what we must seek to find peace.”

This is decidedly _not_ a saying, but Hakoda has learned that people will believe almost anything it’s said with enough conviction. People tended to believe that the Southern Water Tribe was full of mystics and sages declaring all sorts of things as blessings and curses. It could be useful to lean into the stereotype to get people to do what he wanted; it worked a surprising amount of the time.

Lee ponders Hakoda’s solemn pronouncement for a moment and then nods.

“Okay,” he says finally. “If they want to come in, that is.”

Hakoda nods.

“We shall speak again, Lee,” he says. “I hope that in time you will be able to tell me how you came to the Southern Water Tribe.”

Lee looks nervous again, but Hakoda does not press further. He pulls back the flap of furs at the doorway to allow Katara and Sokka inside.

“Remember, Lee still needs rest,” Hakoda warns his children.

“Lee?” Katara asks, looking confused.

“That’s what he said he’d like to be called.”

“Oh. Okay, we’ll call him Lee.”

“I just realized,” Sokka says excitedly. “Lee, you’ve never tried seal jerky, have you? It’s the _best_. Katara, do you have extra?”

“Sokka, you’re not going to trick me into sharing my jerky with you.”

“It’s not for me! It’s for Lee! C’mon, Katara, are you really going to deprive Lee of seal jerky? If you have enough for all three of us, it _would_ be rude not to share…”

“Sokka!”

Hakoda steps out to talk to Bato about their next hunting excursion, but he looks back before he lets the furs swing behind him. Katara and Sokka are bickering as usual, Lee watching them with interest from his bed. The ghost of a smile flickers across Lee’s face, and something in Hakoda’s heart unclenches.

Keeping this boy alive may be dangerous in ways he had not anticipated.

—

Hakoda and his men stay on the ice for a month. They have several successful hunts, and Sokka is permitted to join the last one. By the end of their two-day excursion, Sokka is clearly exhausted. But he is ecstatic at his inclusion, and dramatically reenacts every detail of the hunt to the rest of the villagers. Hakoda can’t chide him for embellishing a bit; he is proud of his son’s efforts. Hakoda remembers his own first hunt — he had fallen asleep before they had even served up dinner. He lets Sokka enjoy his moment.

Katara and Lee watch, enraptured, as Sokka slashes the air, roaring like an imaginary polar-dog. Hakoda keeps one eye on Lee, evaluating the boy.

In the past few weeks, Lee has slowly healed. The bruise on his face is faded and he no longer winces when he stands up. He has not warmed much to the villagers, and Hakoda can’t entirely blame him. Although he had promised Lee that no harm would come to him, the villagers weren’t exactly thrilled to have a Fire Nation boy around to eat their food. The elders watch Lee with suspicion, which in turn makes Lee even more sullen and withdrawn.

Hakoda’s only hope of cracking Lee’s prickly facade is to use his children. Sokka and Katara are starved for attention in the village; as the only teenagers, they have to entertain themselves most of the time. Lee is a new audience for Sokka, and Hakoda can tell that Sokka is eager to impress Lee. Sokka had been quite jealous when he learned that Lee had had an empty sword scabbard on his person, and even more so when he learned that Lee was almost fifteen. He calculated that he was only about three months younger than Lee, and was adamant that he keep up with the older boy. Lee seemed both embarrassed and pleased by the attention Sokka paid him. It plays to Hakoda’s suspicions that Lee comes from a rich family; the boy manages to exude both the confidence of someone used to giving orders, but the shyness and awkwardness of someone unused to friendship. 

Katara and Lee have a very different dynamic, and it worries Hakoda. Katara is more mercurial and prone to anger when Lee is around. Hakoda wonders at this; the sweet little girl he remembers surely hadn’t shouted so much. But Lee, usually quiet and pensive, shouts right back. Katara seems to be the only person to rile him up this easily, and it turns out to be quite informative. Many of their arguments cause Lee to carelessly reveal information.

Hakoda is around for one of the worst shouting matches three days before he departs. Tensions are running high — Katara and Sokka seem anxious about their father’s leaving again — and Katara is trying to get Lee to cooperate so she can sew him a pair of warmer pants. Hakoda is pouring over maps in a corner of the yurt where the children cannot see him, and they seem to have forgotten about his presence.

“Can’t you just make a copy of the ones for Sokka?” Lee protests as Katara tries to get him to send still.

“You’re taller than Sokka!” Katara responds in frustration. “Why won’t you just let me help you?”

“You’re not my mother,” Lee snarls.

Katara’s expression goes black.

“No, I’m not. And I don’t _have_ a mother any more thanks to you.”

“Me?! What are you talking about?”

“The Fire Nation took her from me. They killed her in cold blood.”

Lee goes still, staring at Katara in horror.

“…Fire Nation soldiers?”

“Yes, just like _you_.”

“I’m not a soldier.”

“Of course you are. Dad told us you had a sword. You’re just a firebender soldier, like them.”

“If I were a firebender, I wouldn’t have a sword.”

“Why not?” Sokka interjects. He usually stays out of Katara and Lee’s shouting matches, but Hakoda is unsurprised that talk of weapons has distracted his son.

“Using a weapon when you’re a firebender is a sign of weakness,” Lee says bitterly. Hakoda is surprised by his tone, and is not sure why Lee sounds so wounded to admit this. “Only really bad benders need anything else to protect them other than fire.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Katara yells. “You’re still a solider who kills people!”

“I haven’t killed anyone!” Lee responds with just as much venom. “And I’m _not_ a soldier.”

“Well, why are you here then? Didn’t you come to kill us all?”

“No! I was searching for —“

Lee stops short. The atmosphere shifts. Lee looks mortified by his outburst, while Katara and Sokka look confused.

“You were looking for something? Here?” Sokka asks. “What, did you want an otter penguin as a pet or something?”

“No, I… I…”

Lee swallows thickly. Hakoda holds his breath. He could use this information. Perhaps he and his crew could deliver Lee home and receive some kind of reward. It would help the tribe stay alive through another winter.

But Lee seems unable to continue, staring at his feet. His anger is morphing into something else, and he takes large, gulping breaths.

“Lee?” Katara asks softly, the anger gone from her voice. “It’s okay, you can tell us.”

“I can’t,” Lee says desperately. “I can’t tell you.”

There is a pause as Sokka and Katara exchange looks. Lee seems to be sniffling slightly, blinking as he stares down at his feet.

“Okay,” Katara says finally. “I shouldn’t have said that about you coming to kill us. You’ve been pretty nice most of the time.”

“I’m really sorry,” Lee says miserably. “About your mom, I mean. I lost my mom, too.”

“Oh!” Katara moves to place her hand gently on Lee’s arm. “What happened to her?”

“The Fire Nation took her from me, too,” Lee whispers. Sokka and Katara exchange looks again, slightly puzzled by this information, but they seem to realize that Lee has reached a breaking point, and they don’t ask further questions.

“Can I measure you for your pants now?” Katara asks. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Lee offers no protest. There is an occasional sniffling noise, and Lee tries to nonchalantly wipe at his eyes when Sokka and Katara aren’t looking. None of the three seem to notice Hakoda watching them, and he eventually goes back to his maps.

That night, Hakoda is awoken by a shout. This is not an entirely uncommon occurrence. Lee has had frequent nightmares since his arrival at the South Pole, and all of them have been awakened by screams at least once. Even Sokka, the most difficult person to wake that Hakoda has ever met, once turned over after a particular bad night and slurred, “Lee, shh. S’not morning yet,” and promptly fell back asleep. This had made the rest of the family laugh, and even Lee had smiled. 

Lee was terribly embarrassed by his nightmares to the point that everyone else had agreed to pretend that they had heard nothing and slept through it. This had worked fairly well; Lee would settle himself back to sleep more easily than he did when everyone was awake and fussing over him. If things seem particularly bad, Kanna would ask Lee to come help her with a project. Lee would spend an hour untangling fishing line before he started to nod off, and Kanna would send him back to bed. Once, Hakoda woke to find Katara whispering some of her favorite childhood stories to Lee, who Hakoda could tell was just pretending to be asleep. Katara herself fell asleep in the middle of her tale, at which point Lee opened his eyes. Lee had watched Katara with a curious expression until he, too, fell asleep. Hakoda wasn’t sure what to make of this interaction, but it only happened once, so he let it slide.

Tonight is clearly one of the bad nights. Lee thrashes to sit up, throwing his furs to the side. He is panting heavily, his eyes wide and afraid. Hakoda gets up, which only seems to startle Lee more.

“Come with me,” Hakoda says, jerking his head.

Lee looks terrified for a moment, but schools his face into something more stoic. Hakoda can sense that Lee’s breathing is elevated, but the boy’s expression is determined. This child has had practice putting on a brave face.

Hakoda leads Lee into a communal cooking tent that stands empty for the night. He grabs a small saucepan and uses spark rocks to light a flame. Lee looks confused, but says nothing.

Hakoda has tried to piece together Lee’s past over the past month without pushing too hard. The boy is from a wealthy family, with a mother who had been taken — possibly killed — allegedly by the Fire Nation. This is not beyond the realm of possibility; Hakoda is well aware that dissidents are punished in the Fire Nation, regardless of social status. It was rumored that even the Fire Lady…

Hakoda stares at the scar that mars young Lee’s face. A terrible burn, worse than Hakoda had seen on any soldier. Lee had insisted that he was not a solider, but he had been carrying a weapon. He had been on a journey as well, far from home…

As his thoughts whir, Hakoda heats a bowl of bison-yak’s milk. He serves some into two cups, and hands one to Lee.

“Your people use tea to soothe themselves,” Hakoda says quietly. “Here, we use milk.”

At the mention of tea, Lee’s brave facade falls. He stares miserably into his drink.

“I’m not hungry,” he says.

“It’s not for hunger,” Hakoda says. “Drink.”

Lee looks annoyed — he does not like taking orders, which only further cements Hakoda’s suspicions that this boy is used to giving orders himself — but he drinks his milk anyway.

“I will be leaving soon,” Hakoda says, breaking the silence.

“I know,” Lee says, a little confused. “Sokka and Katara say that you and your warriors have patrols you go on for most of the year.”

“We do,” Hakoda agrees. “But our people are unprotected in our absence. I need to make sure they are safe.”

Lee glowers at him.

“I’m not going to attack everyone if that’s what you —“

“No,” Hakoda cuts in. “I am not worried about that.”

“Then what...?”

“There must be people out looking for you, Prince Zuko.”

Lee recoils, jumping up from his seat. He steps back from Hakoda, horrified.

“I… I’m not…”

“I think you are,” Hakoda says. He had not been sure, of course, but ‘Lee’s’ reaction had all but confirmed it. Hakoda had heard the story of the exiled young prince who had lost an Agni Kai with the Firelord himself. The details were murky, but Hakoda knew this much: a man like Firelord Ozai would not hesitate to burn his own child like this. 

“It’s alright, Zuko, if I may call you that,” Hakoda continues. Zuko looks ready to flee, but Hakoda keeps his voice as gentle as possible, as if Zuko were a wounded animal. “I want to keep you safe.”

“Why?” spits Zuko angrily. “I’ve heard what Sokka said. He said you were going to ransom me back to my family. Well, joke’s on you because they don’t want me back. You might as well kill me.”

“I am not going to kill you, Zuko. As I have told you many times, we do not hurt children here.”

“I am not a child!”

“Someday,” Hakoda sighs, “when you are my age, you will laugh that you thought yourself a man at this age. But that is not the point. We will not hurt you because you are innocent. I do not know why you came here, but I do not think it is your intention to hurt us.”

This seems to calm Zuko a bit, but he still eyes Hakoda warily.

“My concern,” Hakoda continues, “is that someone will come looking for _you_ , Prince Zuko, and their intentions will not be good, for you or for our people. I need to know what danger lurks out there.”

Zuko hangs his head.

“No one is going to come looking for me,” he says dully. “Someone tried to kill me from my own ship. I managed to escape in a life boat, but the storm carried me away… The boat is wrecked close to where you found me. If anyone came looking for me, they’d assume I was dead. And no one would even care.”

Zuko’s voice cracks at this admission. Hakoda pours more hot milk and pushes it towards Zuko.

“Sit,” he commands. Zuko complies, gulping down the milk without tasting it.

“Who else was on that ship?” Hakoda asks.

“A dozen crew members, an assassin, apparently, and my uncle.”

“Your uncle?”

“Yeah,” Zuko says miserably. “He might care that I’m dead, but… but he’s probably given up looking for me by now.”

Zuko looks on the verge of tears. Hakoda’s heart twists. He knows he should keep his distance — this boy is nothing but trouble for his people — but Hakoda can only see Zuko for the boy he is. A lost, lonely boy whose anger and fear seem quite justified by all the misfortune that has befallen him.

“Well then,” Hakoda says in a business-like tone. “If this is true, then our people will be safe. My men and I can leave safely in two day’s time.”

“You’re going to leave me here?” Zuko asks, stunned.

“Do you prefer to go back to the Fire Nation?”

Zuko hesitates.

“If I go back, someone might recognize me. They’d tell my father and if he… if he’s the one who…”

Zuko swallows. Hakoda does not make Zuko admit that his own father had sent someone to kill him, and interrupts.

“If you stay here, you would be expected to contribute. To hunt, to fish, to provide for our people.”

“Everyone here hates me,” Zuko grumbles.

“They do not hate you, Zuko. They do not know you. People fear the unknown; you must tell them who you are.”

Zuko stares at Hakoda.

“No way!” he shouts. “Then they’ll hate me even more!”

“Sokka and Katara do not hate you,” Hakoda points out.

“Maybe not, but they will hate me if they know who I _really_ am. Especially Katara.”

“You are more than just a title, Zuko. What kind of man do you want to be?”

“You sound like my uncle,” Zuko says, exasperated. “He always said stuff like that.”

“He sounds wise,” Hakoda says, collecting their empty cups. “Now, I need my rest, and so do you. Come, let us return to our beds.”

He is not sure how much Zuko actually sleeps, but in the morning, Zuko is already pacing the floor of the yurt when Hakoda rises. Katara and Sokka sleep in a bit, and by the time they are both awake, Zuko looks positively green with anxiety.

“Whoa, what’s wrong with you?” Sokka asks, his mouth full of porridge.

Zuko opens his mouth a few times, unable to speak. Hakoda steps in.

“Lee has something he wants to tell you.”

Sokka and Katara wait patiently. After an awkward pause, Zuko finally spits it out.

“My name’s not Lee.”

Sokka and Katara exchange a look.

“We know,” Sokka says.

“What?!” Hakoda and Zuko utter together.

“Your name is Zuko, right?” Katara asks.

“How… how did you…?”

Sokka bursts out laughing.

“You told us! The very first day when Dad and Gran-Gran were talking outside so we couldn’t hear, you woke up for a second. Katara asked you your name and you said it was Zuko. But you were super out of it — you thought Katara was from the spirit world, you told her she was _beautiful_ —” both Katara and Zuko blush horribly at this— “and when Dad came back inside we tried to tell him, but he got called away on the hunt before we could say anything. When Dad talked to you, you said you wanted to be called Lee, so we just called you that.”

“But…” Zuko sputters, “why didn’t you say anything? You had loads of opportunities to tell everyone my real name.”

Sokka shrugs.

“We didn’t know if it _was_ your real name. Like I said, you were super out of it.”

“There’s more than that, isn’t there?” Katara says, scrutinizing Zuko. “You’re not upset about just your name, I mean.”

Zuko’s face falls. He haltingly explains the whole story: that he was an exiled prince who survived an attempted assassination, and that he would stay in the South Pole for the time being.

Sokka and Katara contemplate this news.

“Wait,” Sokka says, his face lighting up. “This means we’ve got enough people to go on a real hunt! We can go hunting together!”

“You… want to go hunting with me?”

“Yeah!” Sokka starts pacing the floor in excitement. “Katara can scare the moose-elk towards us and we can chase them down. All the best strategies need at least three people, and now we’ve got three!”

Zuko looks at Katara.

“Are you okay with me staying here?”

Katara chews her lip in thought.

“Why are you staying?”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Zuko says plainly.

Katara considers this carefully. Hakoda must admit, he is a bit mystified at her internal calculations. He cannot decide if his daughter likes or dislikes Zuko. If he had to guess, Katara hated what Zuko represented, but, despite this, rather liked him as a person. At least, that was how Hakoda felt about the situation. Perhaps he was just projecting on his daughter.

Katara brings herself up to her full height in front of Zuko, hand extended.

“Do you promise to help our people and keep them safe?”

“I do.”

“Good.”

They shake hands solemnly. Hakoda feels an eerie sensation, like he has watched his children transform into adults before his very eyes. Then Sokka lets out a whoop and tugs both Katara and Zuko outside to play in the snow, and they are children again.

Hakoda watches them go, unsure of what the future will bring.


	2. Book One: On the Ice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all know I love me some long-ass chapters, so here you go! 
> 
> FYI there is a slightly graphic description of hunting (tried not to make it too gross but you know, blood).

How had Zuko’s life come to this?

A year and a half ago, he had been the Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, heir to Firelord Ozai, long may he reign. Now, Zuko was exiled and stuck in the middle of nowhere, untangling fish line with a bunch of women and old people.

It had been destabilizing to say the least. He had gone from the height of society to the bottom of the totem pole. It was clear that the members of the Southern Water Tribe did not think much of him, and he did not blame them. With his ribs still broken, he could barely walk the length of the village without getting winded. Every bowl of broth they brought him was accompanied by a glare. The people in this village had known lean times of late, and now Zuko was just another mouth to feed.

The only people who seem to tolerate him are Sokka, Katara, and Kanna. Kanna is kind but stern; she makes sure Zuko stays fed and off his feet while he recuperates. It’s been a long time since anyone has told him when to go to bed, and he fights it at first. One night he sees Kanna sitting alone by the fire, looking impossibly sad. He’s not sure what she’s sad about, but he tries to behave himself better. He doesn’t feel very good about himself when he yells at old women.

Sokka might be Zuko’s favorite person in the Southern Water Tribe. He’s certainly the most fun. Once Zuko’s ribs are on the mend, Sokka arranges elaborate snowball fights and excitedly walks Zuko through hunting tactics for them to try out. They go on a practice run and are completely winded after a brief chase of a rabbit-fox, so Sokka insists they start training together. Zuko is nervous at first — he has painful memories of his training days with Azula — but it’s different with Sokka. They are both wildly competitive, but Sokka always shakes his hand at the end.

“We’re in this together,” Sokka explains. “Either we both catch a moose-elk, or neither of us do. If you’re in good shape, that’s good news for me.”

So Zuko trains as much as possible and commits Sokka’s plans to memory. They work on knife skills together as well. Sokka is green with jealousy that Zuko knows how to use a proper sword, but he seems mollified that Zuko is unused to hunting knives. Zuko runs through Sokka’s training plans over and over: where to stab the moose-elk to bring it down, how to kill it as quickly and painlessly as possible, how to butcher it when they get it back to the village. All of this, of course, relies on actually being able to catch the moose-elk, and for that they need Katara’s help.

Katara is far and away the most confusing person Zuko has ever met. One day she is all smiles and comfort, and the next she is spitting in anger like a lion-cat. Sometimes Zuko finds himself yelling at her and he doesn’t even know why, just that she is yelling and he doesn’t want to back down and lose the argument. It bothers him that she’s nice to everyone but him. He knows he’s trouble for the village, but he didn’t ask for his. It’s not like he’s thrilled he’s here either, so he doesn’t understand why she doesn’t just leave him alone.

“Katara will come around,” Sokka says one day after a particularly vicious fight. “It’s just hard for her with Mom gone.”

Zuko thinks back to a previous fight when Chief Hakoda and his warriors were still on land.

“Fire Nation soldiers killed her, right?”

“Yeah,” Sokka says, voice tight. “Katara was here. She didn’t see it happen but… she saw the man who did it.”

Zuko’s stomach drops. He feels awful for yelling so much.

“They were looking for waterbenders — for Katara. Mom died trying to protect her. I think… I think that’s why she gets so mad sometimes. Because she feels guilty.”

“I gotta go,” Zuko says, putting down his hunting knife. He rushes towards the yurt where Katara had stormed off to.

He finds her angrily ripping at two animal skins used to canvas tents. Katara had mentioned she needed to help her grandmother with this task, but Zuko was pretty sure that this level of violence was not necessary.

“What do you want, Zuko?” she spits.

“A truce.”

This gets her attention. She watches as he sits across from her.

“Look, I know we shook hands a while back when I said I wanted to stay, but it seems like you don’t want me here.”

“Of course I don’t,” Katara says, resuming her ripping. “Why would I want some Fire Nation prince around?”

Zuko chooses to ignore this dig.

“I’m sorry for what my people have done to you, for taking your mother away. I don’t want to fight with you. We don’t have to be friends, but I don’t want to be enemies. Please, Katara. I don’t want you to hate me anymore.”

Zuko’s eyes sting with tears. He’s so tired of being yelled at, of everyone hating him. He’s never been good enough. Chief Hakoda should have left him to die on the ice like Zuko deserved.

He blinks, realizing he has gotten distracted from his original purpose. He’s not sure how this apology had turned into him pleading for Katara to stop being mean to him. He was supposed to be the one apologizing about her mom.

Katara puts down the animal skins, evaluating Zuko.

“You said you lost your mom, too, right? What happened?”

“I think… I think my dad had her killed.”

He has never said this out loud before. It was too terrible to face. He wanted to believe that his mother had fled the Fire Nation of her own accord, but even this was a painful idea. It would mean that she had left him and Azula behind, her own children.

Katara crawls over to sit next to Zuko, resting her head on his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry about your mom. And I’m sorry I yell at you so much. I just get really angry sometimes. Everyone else expects me to be good all the time and I get in trouble if I yell at them. So I yell at you instead. I guess that’s not really fair, though. You’re really nice to Sokka.”

Zuko squirms.

“I don’t know if I’m _nice_ to Sokka. He just wants someone to help him hunt down moose-elk.”

“Yeah, but you laugh at his jokes.”

“Some of them are funny!”

“Boys are so weird.”

But she is smiling as she says this, pulling away to face him.

“I promise,” she says extending her hand, “to try not to yell at you.”

“Me too,” Zuko says, shaking her hand.

“Friends?” she asks.

“You don’t have to, Katara.”

“I want to. I’ve never had a friend before, just Sokka.”

“Me neither,” Zuko admits. “Seems nice though.”

“Yeah, it does. Hey, have you ever been penguin sledding before? It’s really fun! Let’s go get Sokka to come with us.”

Sokka eagerly abandons his training regimen to join them. Katara reveals that she and Zuko are officially friends now.

“Hey, does that make us friends, too?” he asks Zuko.

“Uh, if you want?”

“Great!” Sokka says happily. “Hey, I hear friends share extra jerky with each other…”

“Not a chance, Sokka.”

Zuko smiles as he watches Katara and Sokka slide down on their penguins. 

For the first time in his life, he has friends. It feels good.

—

Sokka declares Zuko and himself fit to hunt after two months.

“It’s halfway through summer already. We can still hunt through the fall, but it’s harder. We’ve got to test out our strategies now.”

Zuko carefully prepares his weapons. He and Sokka run through the plan again.

The moose-elk herd grazes just west of the village in a quiet glen. Katara will run in from the north, startling the herd down through a narrow canyon. From there, Sokka and Zuko can strike, and, if need be, chase down the stragglers onto a promontory. Sometimes moose-elk miscalculate and fall off the cliff. It isn’t necessarily a fatal fall, but even a broken leg will spell death for the prey and victory for the hunters.

The plan goes wrong almost immediately. Sokka and Zuko are spotted getting into position, and the herd stampedes the wrong way. The boys give chase, but the herd thunders away out of sight.

Sokka takes it hard, but Katara is more optimistic.

“Don’t be so down on yourself,” she says, serving Sokka an extra helping of stew to cheer him up. “Dad says most hunts fail.”

“Yeah, but the first hunt he lead, they brought down a huge stag! He still has one of the antler pieces.”

“Dad lead his first hunt with ten other warriors, Sokka,” Katara says patiently. “You can’t expect to get it perfect with just the three of us.”

They try again and again. The next two times the herd runs the right way, but Sokka and Zuko miss their marks and the herd relocates to a glen further south. They try attacking there, but the setup isn’t as good, and their chase is over before it begins. They take a week to rest until the herd comes back to the original location.

Zuko wakes the morning of their next hunt with a good feeling. There is an unusual fog, which will give him and Sokka cover. They approach silently, and Sokka gives a whistle so Katara knows to scare the herd. 

The sound of hooves grows near, but Zuko holds his position. Sokka will strike first, using his boomerang to startle the group, breaking off a few stragglers. Then Zuko will leap in, using his spear to try to snag one.

It works; Zuko lets his spear fly and hears a grunt. He leaps down from his hiding spot to give chase, only to find that he has hit a huge buck, twice as big as he and Sokka had planned on. In the fog, Zuko had thought the buck was smaller, and now he and Sokka will have to chase a full-grown male. The spear in its hind leg slows it down, but they can still barely keep up with it. Sokka throws another spear that lands in the buck’s side, but it hardly slows it down.

Zuko runs until his lungs burn. Sokka barely looks tired at all, so Zuko keeps going, sprinting through the pain. The buck starts to tire, and Zuko can see panic in its large eyes. It turns suddenly to face them, and Sokka skids to a stop a few feet before the giant moose-elk.

For the first time, Zuko is afraid. A moose-elk of this size could do real damage if it gets too close; its huge antlers could toss Sokka aside, its hooves stomping him into the ice. Sokka faces off with the buck, slowly backing away as the buck stares him down. On instinct, Zuko lunges to the right, distracting the moose-elk. Sokka dives to the left, and the buck bellows in frustration, trying to keep both of them in its field of view. Sokka releases his boomerang, but the moose-elk turns at the last moment. The boomerang sails over its head, but swings back around and knocks into the buck’s antlers. Disoriented, the moose-elk shakes his head. Zuko goes for the kill.

Although he had practiced this endlessly with Sokka, nothing could have prepared him for this. Zuko plunges his knife into the moose-elk’s neck, slicing upwards with all his might. Hot blood spurts forth, soaking his gloved hands. The moose-elk staggers to the side, his huge eyes level with Zuko’s. He watches in horror as the moose-elk gurgles a final breath, falls to its knees, and dies. It hits the ground with a terrible thud, blood pooling around its head.

The tundra is silent for a moment. Zuko looks up at Sokka, who stares at him, wide-eyed.

“ _Yes_!” Sokka cries, pumping his fists triumphantly. “You did it! Zuko, you did it! We brought down a moose-elk!”

Sokka is elated, whooping with glee. Zuko stares down at the moose-elk, shell-shocked. What had he done?

Sokka goes quiet after a minute and kneels next to the moose-elk. Zuko is about to ask what he’s doing when Sokka bows his head.

“Spirits of Tui and La,” Sokka says in the most serious voice Zuko has ever heard from him. “Thank you for your blessings today. Our tribe’s suffering will be lessened thanks to your kindness. May you guide us always.”

Sokka stands and, grinning at Zuko, breaks into another victory dance.

“Do you do that every time you kill something?” Zuko asks in a choked voice.

“Of course,” Sokka says. “Hey, are you okay?”

Zuko shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts.

“Yeah, uh… I just didn’t expect so much blood.”

“Oh, right,” Sokka says, as if noticing the carnage for the first time. “I guess it’s kind of freaky if you’re not used to it.”

“It looked at me,” Zuko says, shaken. “Right before it died.”

“Didn’t you eat meat back in the Fire Nation?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t have to kill it myself.”

Sokka puzzles over this a moment.

“I’m not going to lie. If you think about it too hard, you do feel kind of bad for the moose-elk. But it’s not all bad! A buck this big can feed us for weeks. You keep dozens of people alive from just one animal. And, well, it’s not exactly a nice way to die, but there are worse things around here.”

Zuko still feels rather sick, and it gets worse when he and Sokka have to find a way to drag the moose-elk back. It’s too heavy for them to move by themselves, so they have to butcher it on the spot. Again, this is something that Zuko had theoretically practiced, but the reality involved a lot more blood and fur than he was prepared for.

After about an hour, Katara and some elders arrive, each carrying large baskets and carving knives. Together, they pick the carcass clean, carefully packaging the meat into containers to carry back. While they work, rabbit-foxes and crow-owls gather on the outskirts of their circle, waiting for their chance to snatch up any forgotten entrails.

“See?” Sokka says proudly. “You helped all these animals eat dinner, too.”

Zuko still feels uneasy, but he dutifully picks up his basket and carries it back. He tries not to think about the blood all over his clothes.

When they arrive back at the village, Sokka proudly holds up the antlers to the rapturous crowd. Sokka and Zuko are greeted like heroes. Zuko is shocked by the change; everyone is smiling at him and thanking him. It feels like his whole day has been a bizarre fever dream.

Most of the meat is saved to preserve, but a feast is held in the center of the village. The tribe gorges on moose-elk, and Zuko has to admit, it’s some of the best meat he’s ever tasted. It could use some fire flakes to spice it up, but Zuko is happy enough to take second helpings while he can.

The next morning, his legs are so sore he can barely walk. Sokka is in the same boat, but he seems pretty happy about it.

“Next time we can try Sneak Attack Plan 143. I think it’s even better than Sneak Attack Plan 75.”

“That’s the one that we used?”

“Nah, that was Sneak Attack Plan 68 with a boomerang twist.”

Things are different in the village after that. Zuko has finally earned his keep. By bringing down the moose-elk, he has brought in far more food than he has consumed, and the elders no longer seem to resent him so much. They don’t trust him or like him, but they respect his abilities as a hunter, which is better than nothing. 

He keeps going out with Sokka at regular intervals. They fail most of the time — by Zuko’s estimate, only one in five hunts actually leads to anything, and most of their prey is much smaller than the first moose-elk — but there is a sense of pride in their work. It gets easier, too. Zuko becomes more practiced at striking the final blow, and while he’s still a little uneasy about taking a life, even an animal one, he at least knows that it is a quick death. He thinks once about the attempt on his own life, how he was beaten over the head and would have been left to freeze to death after days alone… the moose-elk way seemed more humane.

—

Zuko can feel himself getting stronger as the summer sun shines above. He feels a restlessness that he desperately wants to suppress.

No one knows he is a firebender.

Zuko is a terrible liar, but he has not had to deny it outright. It has been a lie of omission, one he knows is keeping him safe. The villagers barely tolerate him as it is; he can’t imagine their reactions if they find out what he can do.

It was easy to hide his bending the first few months. He was weak and injured, and his fear and loneliness made his fire feel very small indeed. But it had grown, fueled by his pride in his new skills and the sense of security he was starting to feel. If he wasn’t careful, it was going to come out in unpredictable ways.

He starts making excuses to spend time alone, but he learns that privacy is really not something the Southern Water Tribe has much of a concept of. Sokka constantly tries to tag along when Zuko goes anywhere, looking hurt when Zuko tells him he wants to be alone. Katara confronts him about this, asking why he’s being mean to Sokka.

“I wasn’t trying to be!” Zuko protests. “I just wanted to be alone for a little bit. Is that so bad?”

“Why?” Katara asks. “Don’t you like us?”

“Of course I do,” Zuko blurts, surprised to find it is true. “But sometimes I just need to go think. Don’t you ever like to be alone?”

Katara shrugs.

“I guess so. We’re just worried about you, Zuko.”

“Worried? About what?” Zuko asks, flabbergasted.

“You look sad sometimes,” she says, blushing slightly. “I just want to make sure you don’t feel too lonely here since you’re not with your family.”

“Most of my family is crazy,” Zuko says. “I’m okay, Katara. Really. I just… have stuff to do on my own.”

Katara looks at him with a shrewd expression, but she lets him go. He goes to firebend in peace.

It works well for a while. As summer fades into fall, Zuko and Sokka go on their best hunt yet: they take down their quarry in five minutes flat, and they have butchered and transported the meat back in less than two hours. Zuko feels power coursing through him, so he sneaks away to burn off his excess energy.

It’s a great session, and he kicks and punches fire with an ease he has rarely ever felt. In most of his training sessions with Azula, he had felt anxious, like he had something to prove. Today he has already proven himself. People didn’t totally hate him. He had two friends. Sokka had given him a high-five. Katara had smiled at him today. Katara was smiling at him right now.

Zuko’s flame vanishes. Katara was _smiling_ at him, and she was not alone.

Most of the village is gathered behind her, staring open-mouthed at Zuko. In his distraction, he hadn’t noticed them coming up to his practice spot. He has assumed they’d be busy preparing the feast, but he had guessed wrong.

Katara bounds over to him, her eyes wide with wonder.

“Wow, Zuko! That was amazing!”

“Why didn’t you tell us you could do that?” Sokka demands. 

“You aren’t mad that I’m a… a firebender?”

“Duh,” Sokka says testily. “I’m going to have to make all new hunting strategies!”

“How did you learn?” Katara asks eagerly.

“Tutors,” he says slowly. “When I was a kid. Wait, I thought you guys _hated_ firebenders.”

Katara and Sokka’s expressions sober.

“I mean, nobody here knows any firebenders other than the ones who… who killed Mom,” Sokka says shakily. “But you’re not like them.”

“Yeah,” Katara adds kindly. “We like _you_ , Zuko.”

Zuko can feel himself flush with embarrassment.

“This is great,” Sokka says excitedly. “You can do all sorts of cool fire stuff. We can use that, maybe scare herds towards us... You think you could take out a moose-elk with a fire blast?”

Sokka mimes a fireball, complete with over-the-top sound effects.

“It’s not a good way to die,” Zuko says dully.

Sokka pulls a face.

“Right, sorry. Well, at the very least, you can start the bonfire tonight. That always takes _forever_.”

“You’re really not mad?” Zuko asks. He looks specifically at Katara. He has a feeling she would not appreciate a lie, even one of omission.

“It’s a little scary,” Katara says nervously. “Since we’ve only seen bad guys bend fire it was… hard to watch at first. But the way you moved… it wasn’t like fighting. It was like dancing. It was… beautiful.”

Zuko had not thought it possible for his face to get this red. He wants to protest that firebending is _not_ like dancing, that it was very _manly_ and _tough_. But he can’t bring himself to correct Katara when she looks so excited.

“Could you teach me?”

Zuko stares at her, confused.

“Uh, what?”

“I know it’s not the same thing, but I can waterbend a little,” she says, waving her hands. The snow shifts around their feet, but the movement is fragmented and uncontrolled. 

“I’m not very good,” she says sadly. “I don’t really know what to do. I know fire is a totally different element, but maybe some of the basics are the same?”

She looks so hopeful that Zuko can’t help himself.

“I can try,” he says, shrugging.

“Oh! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Katara squeals, launching herself at him. Zuko stiffens; no one has hugged him in a very long time, and he’s sort of forgotten what to do.

Fortunately, Katara pulls herself away and claps her hands.

“Can we start now?”

— 

Waterbending is _weird_.

It takes a few weeks for Katara and Zuko to figure out any sort of lesson plan. Things are bad at the beginning: Katara gets frustrated at her lack of progress, and Zuko gets defensive when she snaps at him. Most of their training sessions end in shouting matches, and more than once Sokka has to drag them back together to apologize to each other.

One day, Katara breaks down in tears. She has been trying to transfer water from one bucket to another with very little success.

“I can’t do it!” she wails.

“Yes, you can, Katara. Just focus.”

“I _am_ focusing,” she snarls. She stares down at the bucket for a moment and the fight goes out of her. “Maybe I’m not meant to be a bender. I just can’t do it.”

She sits down miserably next to the bucket, tears flowing down her face. 

Zuko sits next to her, hugging his knees to his chest.

“I was really bad at bending when I was a kid,” he admits quietly. “My mom let me train with swords so I could protect myself, just in case. But it’s really bad for firebenders to use regular weapons. It means that you’re weak.”

“But you’re not,” Katara says. “You’re amazing. All that cool stuff you can do…”

“It took me a really long time. And I still have more to learn, although that might be hard to do here without a teacher... Anyway, you just started training, Katara. And you don’t even have all the tutors and masters I had to learn, you just have me.”

“You’re doing a good job, Zuko.”

Zuko raises a brow skeptically. Katara blushes.

“Well, you’re trying. And if I can’t do it, it’s my fault, not yours. I just need to figure out how to get your fire training to work on water.”

Zuko frowns at the bucket, mulling this over.

“Maybe that’s the problem,” he says slowly. “I’m trying to get you to think like a firebender, but water and fire are opposites. Maybe we need to come at this from a different angle.”

Katara nods, looking encouraged.

“Okay, let’s try again.”

Katara makes slow but steady progress after that. Soon, she can transfer the whole bucket of water in one go. She does a little victory dance as Zuko applauds, then throws herself at him.

“Thanks, Zuko,” she mumbles against his chest. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Privately, Zuko thinks that she probably could have: he has been impressed by Katara’s tenacity over the past few weeks. He wasn’t exactly the best teacher, but she would be anyone’s star pupil. But Zuko was very happy to accept her praise all the same because it came with a hug.

Zuko could get used to this hugging stuff. It was pretty nice.

—

Sokka and Zuko are debating their next hunting trip strategy when the yurt door bursts open.

“Kanna! We need your help. Kallik’s baby is coming.”

“But Gran-Gran,” Katara exclaims, worried. “You said her baby wouldn’t be here for another two moons!”

Kanna moves with surprising agility, gathering supplies.

“Katara, come with me. Boys, bring us a bucket of warm water as soon as possible.”

The women disappear, leaving Sokka and Zuko in stunned silence. They scramble outside, Sokka procuring a bucket and Zuko filling it with snow to melt.

“Does this happen a lot?” Zuko asks. He’s never been around babies before. Azula was the youngest person in the palace when he lived there.

Sokka looks worried.

“Not really. I mean, it’s kind of unpredictable when babies are going to arrive, but this is really early. Sometimes... sometimes they don’t make it.”

“The baby dies?” Zuko asks, horrified.

“Or the mom. Sometimes both.”

Zuko melts the snow as fast as he can, and he and Sokka rush to the infirmary tent. There are many frantic voices inside.

“Katara!” Sokka shouts. “We’ve got the water!”

Katara pokes her head out, her face pale with anxiety. Sokka and Zuko enter with the large bucket, although they are hidden from the rest of the women, who have set up a curtain of privacy.

“What else can we do?” Zuko asks. His gut roils at the thought of a mother losing her child, or vice versa.

Kanna appears, looking grave.

“We will need more bandages. Boys, fetch some cloths from our tent — the white ones, please.”

“Wait!” Katara cries. “Gran-Gran, didn’t you say the water needs to be kept warm? Shouldn’t Zuko stay here to keep it hot?”

Although Zuko _had_ offered to help, he really does not want to stay in this tent of horrors. There is a scream of pain, and he feels his flesh crawl.

“Good idea, Katara,” Kanna nods. “Zuko, we can use you to sterilize materials. Sokka, bring us that cloth, and Zuko, you will boil it clean, understood?”

Sokka darts away, Zuko staring helplessly after him.

“It’s okay,” Katara says, sensing Zuko’s fear. “Kallik and her baby will have a much better chance of surviving now that you’re here.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, the hardest part about a baby coming so fast is keeping everything clean. Fire will help prevent infection.”

Zuko nods. Another scream echoes, and Katara dashes off.

Time moves in strange bursts. For a while, nothing happens, and then suddenly there is a flurry of activity. There is another lull as the elder women decide the best course of action before the baby moves again and the whole circus restarts. Zuko sticks to his post, hidden behind the curtain, boiling water and rags repeatedly. Sokka has been deputized to keep the children away from the screams of the tent, and Zuko tries not to be too envious that he is probably penguin sledding instead of listening to a woman suffer.

After hours of worry, the moment arrives: a final scream of pain and then a wail, much higher and smaller than before. 

“A boy!”

Zuko breathes a sigh of relief. Crying at least meant the baby was alive, right?

There is a period of calm, and Zuko focus on sanitizing the rags he is brought, most of them stained a terrible red. But as time passes, Zuko detects a murmuring of voices, tension palpable in the room.

“What’s going on?” he asks as Katara brings yet another round of rags.

“Kallik won’t stop bleeding,” Katara says, her voice tight. “And we’re worried about the baby. We’re trying to keep him warm, but…”

Katara eyes Zuko for a moment and then disappears. Perplexed, Zuko goes back to his task, but looks up again when Katara approaches, flanked by several elder women.

“Katara, you can’t be serious!” hisses an elder.

“Of course I am!” she asserts. Katara is carrying the swaddled newborn in her arms. Zuko gets a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“There are plenty of us here to hold the baby,” another elder chides.

“Zuko can hold the baby,” Katara says confidently. “He’ll keep him warmer than we can.”

Before Zuko can protest, Katara thrusts out her arms, pushing the baby towards Zuko’s chest. On instinct, he stretches out his hands so the boy doesn’t fall, but Katara uses the opportunity to carefully arrange the baby in his arms. Feeling supremely awkward, Zuko hunches over, staring at the elders with wide-eyes.

“I don’t know anything about babies, Katara,” he says, an edge of panic in his voice.

“You don’t have to,” she says calmly. “We’ll come back and check on him. You just have to keep him warm. Not too hot though, okay?”

Zuko opens his mouth to protest, but the baby fusses and Zuko looks down. The baby is impossibly tiny his arms, a shock of jet black hair on his head. He can barely open his eyes, and his body moves in strange, jerking motions. Zuko has never seen anything more helpless in his life. He looks back up at Katara, who smiles.

“I know you’ll take good care of him,” Katara says. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Several elders continue to stare at him with suspicion, but they seem too afraid to come pry the baby out of his arms. The baby continues to fuss slightly, so Zuko tries bouncing his arms a bit, warming himself slightly. Almost immediately, the boy quiets, lips smacking a bit as he falls into a deep sleep. 

Something stirs in Zuko’s chest. For once in his life, he feels like he’s doing the right thing by helping this tiny creature. He forgets about the elders watching him and the rags to be boiled. He just marvels at the baby and his tiny hands. 

There are yet more complications with Kallik, and most of the women spend their time tending to her. Zuko is left alone with the baby for long stretches. Occasionally, Katara will come by with milk to feed the baby so Zuko can go relieve himself. Thankfully, Katara also seems to know how to change diapers, for which Zuko is eternally grateful.

The elders seem resigned to Zuko being the primary caretaker of the baby. Zuko is confused by this — why they would they trust him, of all people, to take care of a baby — but the answer reveals itself the next morning when Zuko takes the baby around for a walk. Katara has helped fix a sling so Zuko can keep the baby warm and close to his chest while still having both hands free to help Sokka with sharpening spears. Sokka teases Zuko mercilessly at first, but seeing the expression on Zuko’s face when the baby starts to cry, he stops.

“There’s not point in all that,” an elder man says as Zuko tries calming the baby with a story.

“What do you mean?” Sokka asks. “I thought you were supposed to tell babies stories and stuff like that.”

“He won’t make it,” the older man continues. “So there’s no use in getting attached.”

“What do you mean?”

“Born too small,” the man says resignedly. “I’ve seen it before. When they’re that small, they don’t survive the first moon. He’s weak. It’s for the best.”

Fire fills Zuko’s veins.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” he shouts at the old man. The baby cries in earnest, upset at the sound. “This baby is going to live!”

Zuko storms off, clutching the boy close to his chest. Sokka runs to catch up.

“What was that all about?” Sokka asks over the baby’s continued crying.

“He’s not _weak_ ” Zuko spits, bouncing the baby in his arms. “He’s just a little small. He needs extra help, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with him.”

Sokka gives Zuko an evaluating look.

“Were you born small?” Sokka asks.

“What’s that got to do with—“

“I’m just saying,” Sokka says, interrupting Zuko’s tirade. “Maybe you’re angry because people didn’t give you a chance, and you don’t want the same thing to happen to this kid.”

Sokka doesn’t specifically say ‘your father,’ but Zuko knows that’s to whom he is referring. And he is right — Zuko can very much identify with this baby born into trouble.

“He’s going to be fine,” Zuko says with determination. “I’m going to keep him warm.”

“Okay,” Sokka says. “How can I help?”

“I thought you said it was ‘unmanly’ to carry around a baby.”

“Well, yeah, if it’s just because you think babies are _cute_. But now this is a rescue mission. That’s the manliest thing there is!”

Zuko rolls his eyes, glad that he at least has someone else to help him. Katara has been busy with the elder women trying to heal Kallik. 

After five days, the women announce that Kallik will likely make a full recovery. Zuko brings the baby to her, handing him over with some reluctance. Kallik looks at her son with such love that it makes Zuko feel a little misty-eyed.

“Thank you, Zuko,” Kallik says warmly. “Katara told me you kept my son alive.”

Zuko can feel himself go bright red. Katara beams at him from across Kallik’s bedside.

“It was mostly Katara,” Zuko mumbles. “She’s the one who brought him milk and changed him and all that.”

“Yes, but you kept him warm when I could not,” Kallik says. “I am in your debt for saving my son’s life.”

“I didn’t save—“

“Thank you,” Kallik says more forcefully. “Thank you, Zuko.”

Zuko decides it’s not worth arguing. Katara and Kallik coo over the baby, and he turns to leave.

“Oh,” he says in a tone he hopes sounds casual. “If you ever need someone to keep him warm when you’re busy, I wouldn’t mind.”

Kallik smiles kindly at him. Katara gives Zuko a smirk that makes his stomach flip uncomfortably.

And that is how Zuko becomes the unofficial babysitter of the Southern Water Tribe.

—

The boy is named Amaqjuaq, the strong one. Some of the elders snicker at this choice, but Zuko glares at them furiously until they are silent. Sometimes Sokka teases Zuko for being overly protective, but Katara just smiles.

“I think it’s really nice, Zuko,” she says. “Amaqjuaq is lucky to have you to take care of him.”

Katara looks at him in a way that makes his insides squirm, so he usually just storms off in a huff to avoid the strange feeling. Amaqjuaq does not seem to mind; he likes being rocked to sleep. 

Three more babies are born over the next two months. Zuko wonders at this coincidence and Katara laughs.

“Of course they’re all born at the same time,” she says. “About nine months after the men get here, usually.”

Zuko stares at her in confusion.

“Do you… do you not know where babies come from?” she asks, puzzled.

“Of course I do!” Zuko says hotly. “It’s when men and women… you know…”

“And then the baby grows for nine months inside the mother,” Katara finishes.

“Oh,” Zuko says, embarrassed. “I guess I didn’t know it took that long.”

“More or less,” Katara says, shrugging. “Amaqjuaq is an early exception, of course.”

The problem with so many young babies at the same time is that Zuko is constantly carrying one around, which makes it difficult to do anything with Sokka. As loathe as everyone was to trust him initially, the new mothers seem quite eager to entrust their newborns to a human incubator. Zuko does not really blame them — babies are tiring, and the mothers are all alone with their children — but he gets tired, too. More than once, he falls asleep with two infants strapped snugly to his chest. He usually wakes up to Katara’s giggling.

Sokka is surprisingly patient, using the period of Zuko’s baby-wrangling to improve his hunting tactics. 

“You’ll be really strong from carrying those babies around all the time,” Sokka says cheerfully. “We’ll be able to take down a ton of moose-elk and be able to keep the tribe fed for months!”

The winter months are brutal at the South Pole. Zuko realizes just how lucky he is that he had washed up here in the spring; he would certainly be dead of exposure in less than a day in this weather. The tribe spends most of their time together in a large, communal hut. Zuko is thrown by the complete lack of privacy, but everyone else seems used to it.

Zuko’s baby-warming services are more in demand than ever. Toddlers and children under the age of five wander over to him, unprompted, to give him lingering hugs. He knows it’s just because they want to warm up, but he can’t help but feel his spirits lift with a toothless child grins up at him. Of course, there are downsides — lots of baby drool and smelly diapers – but Zuko is cheered to find that most of the tribe seems to tolerate his presence now. Some people even seem to like him, a novelty Zuko is keen to protect. It turns out the way to get in with the Southern Water Tribe is to be helpful, so he does everything he can to be of service.

Katara is the same way, and she spends the winter months in a flurry of activity. She cooks, sews, and teaches children to scratch their numbers and letters into the floor. Sokka, on the other hand, seems mostly focused on developing hare-brained tactical maneuvers for hunting or battle. 

After weeks without sun, Zuko finally asks them about it.

“Why would I need to cook?” Sokka asks. “That’s women’s work.”

Zuko goggles at him.

“I thought you wanted to be a warrior?”

“I do! I’m going to be the best warrior in the whole tribe, just like Dad!”

“Well, don’t warriors need to know how to cook?”

“…No?”

“Sokka, who do you think makes their dinner for them every night when they’re out at sea?”

“But that’s different,” Sokka explains, waving a hand absently. “That’s _surviving_. Just pure, manly survival.”

Zuko and Katara roll their eyes in sync. Fortunately, Sokka has his eyes closed as he pontificates about manliness.

“All I’m saying,” Zuko cuts in. “Is that it seems like the only thing the men are supposed to do around here is hunt.”

“It’s not the _only_ thing,” Katara says. “But it is the main thing. It’s an important part of courtship, too.”

“Courtship?”

“Yes,” Katara explains excitedly. “If a man wants to win over a woman, he needs to prove that he can provide for her, so he needs to be a good hunter. Dad says when he was courting Mom, he brought down the biggest moose-elk he could find and gave her the antlers.”

“Oh,” Zuko says, surprised. “Does the woman have to do something, too?”

“Oh, yes,” Katara answers. “She needs to prove that she will provide a good home. To court properly, you should cook your intended’s favorite meals so he knows you like him. And you should sew for him — it’s why we practice our beading work,” she adds, holding up a moccasin she has been working on. 

Sokka snorts.

“Girly stuff,” he says, elbowing Zuko. “Glad we don’t have to bother with that stupid stuff.”

“It’s not stupid!” Katara says hotly. “And good luck ever finding someone to marry _you_ , Sokka. She’ll take one sniff of your socks and run away screaming.”

Before Sokka can respond, Zuko interrupts.

“You don’t have arranged matches?”

“No!” Katara says, scandalized. “They do in the North, I think. At least, that’s what Gran-Gran said — she actually _ran away_ from the North to escape a match. Can you imagine being told who you have to marry?” Katara gives a little shudder of horror.

Zuko actually _can_ imagine this. For most of his life, he assumed that would be his fate. Still, the idea of choosing one’s own spouse is an interesting concept.

“But how will you find someone?” Zuko asks. “There isn’t anyone else here your age.”

It’s true: there is at least a decade between them and the next youngest man or woman. Zuko supposes that sometimes old men married much younger women, but the thought makes him a little nauseated. Besides, if Katara got to choose her husband, he doubted she’d pick someone so much older.

“Well,” Katara says with some trepidation. “Sokka and I probably will have to go to the North Pole to find someone.”

“Will you have to live there?” Zuko asks, feeling a stab of anxiety. The thought of his only two friends in the world leaving him behind is discomforting.

“Nah,” Sokka says easily. “We’re important down here. Son and daughter of the chief! I’m sure they’ll be lining up to come back with us.”

“Not if you don’t impress them,” Katara chastises. “That’s why I’ve been learning to cook with Gran-Gran and practicing my sewing. Look!”

She holds out two shirts she has been mending, one of Sokka’s and one of Zuko’s. They had been in a wrestling match when they had both managed to tear holes in the other’s clothing. Kanna had been none too pleased, but Katara had used this as an opportunity to practice her embroidery.

Sokka’s shirt has been darned in an unusual way, a curve to the stitching. Zuko peers at it curiously.

“A boomerang?” he ventures.

“Yes!” Katara says, delighted.

“Cool! Thanks, Katara!” Sokka says. “Er, Zuko… what is that?”

Zuko holds up his own shirt. It is obvious that Katara had worked hard on this — Zuko had watched her concentrate over it all morning — but he can make neither heads nor tails of it.

“A…blob?”

It’s the wrong thing to say, and Katara’s face falls. Sokka bursts into laughter.

“No!” Zuko tries to amend. “It’s great. I really like it Katara. It’s, er… so… round?”

“It’s supposed to be a flame,” she says miserably, staring in her lap. “I couldn’t really remember what it should look like.”

“Oh, I see it now!” Zuko says with a bit more certainty than he feels. “Thanks, Katara. This was really nice of you.”

Katara still looks hurt, but Zuko is at a loss. He really _did_ like that Katara had done this for him, but he didn’t know how to say it without sounding like he was trying too hard. He instead moves back to the original subject.

“So once you are good at all this sewing and cooking and stuff, that’s it? You’re just supposed to sew and cook for your husband forever?”

Katara blinks at him.

“Yes, of course.”

“But that’s not what you want to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“You want to be a warrior, don’t you?”

Katara’s eyes shine with excitement, but before she can respond, Sokka explodes in laughter.

“Katara can’t be a warrior!” he says gleefully. “She’s a _girl_!”

“So?” Zuko asks. “She’s a waterbender. She can fight, same as anyone else.”

“What’s she gonna do, splash people to death?”

“ _Shut up!_ ”

Katara looks absolutely furious. Sokka is shocked; he had not expected this reaction.

“Katara —“

But Katara shoves past him and out the door, into the frozen tundra.

“Girls are crazy,” Sokka grumbles.

“Why do you have to be such an asshole?” Zuko says to Sokka’s shocked expression. “There’s nothing wrong with being a girl. You’re never going to get one to like you if you keep saying stuff like that.”

Zuko turns to follow Katara outside. There’s no sign of her, but he spots footprints leading away from the hut and he follows them slowly.

To be fair, Zuko understands why Sokka teases his sister. Zuko had certainly grappled with Azula many times: vying for the limited affections of their father or the praise of their tutors. Zuko had certainly thought himself superior for being a boy plenty of times. It was the one thing his father actually seemed to like about him. But Zuko had been around more women in the Southern Water Tribe than he had ever been before, and he had to admit, they got a raw deal. He had heard enough of the process of childbirth to know that it required physical and mental strength beyond what he himself could imagine. As for fighting, well… Zuko had seen what Azula could do. He had no doubts that with proper training, Katara would be a formidable opponent.

The footprints lead him back to the private family hut, usually kept closed up during the winter months. It was too cold to sleep in it with just the four of them, but occasionally they would go to fetch something during the daytime. Zuko could hear a few sniffles inside. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Katara sits on the floor, knees huddled to her chest. She wipes her eyes quickly as Zuko steps inside, a flame in his palm to light the dim yurt.

“Sokka’s right,” Katara laments. “I can’t be a warrior.”

“Of course you can,” Zuko says fiercely. “You can do anything you want, Katara.”

“But I can’t!” she wails. “Without proper training…”

“Then you’ll just have to go to the North Pole. They have waterbenders there.”

“But…” Katara hesitates. “I can’t just _leave_ , Zuko. The tribe needs me.”

“They can manage for a while,” Zuko says. “And besides, once you know how to waterbend properly, you can do even more for the tribe. It would be worth it.”

Katara ponders this, looking a bit more cheerful.

“But,” Zuko adds hastily. “You don’t have to go right away. You could wait a while. Maybe until you want to go find a husband. That way you only have to go once.”

Katara smiles.

“Would you miss me if I left?”

“Yes. Don’t tell Sokka.”

Katara giggles.

“I won’t. And Zuko? I would miss you, too.”

They both stand to leave the yurt. Zuko makes sure it is well sealed against the elements behind them, and watches the back of Katara’s parka as she walks in front of him.

Uncle Iroh had always talked about choosing one’s own destiny. Zuko wasn’t quite sure what that meant for him, but he could see it for Katara. She _should_ be able to choose her path: who she would be, how she would help her people, who she would spend her life with. Zuko wanted her to make her own choices, to find what made her happiest.

Why, then, did the idea of her choosing a Northern waterbender make him feel so queasy?

—

Life in the South Pole falls into a rhythm. Like the ebb and flow of the tide, each day follows a cycle, one to which Zuko quickly becomes accustomed. There is something comforting about the routine, to know that each morning he will wake and greet the day with Sokka and Katara. Kanna will feed them hot porridge and smile kindly at them. Sometimes she ruffles Zuko’s hair. Though part of him wants to protest that he is not a child, it does feel good to be treated the same as Katara and Sokka. 

The villagers seem to forget that Zuko is not like them. They hand him children to hold, or help him butcher moose-elk. They are grateful that he can light a fire so quickly, and he is often summoned to melt open frozen storage chests or to heat up a bowls of forgotten stew. He is useful here, and it feels good to have a purpose.

It still hurts, though, to think that he will never go home. Almost a year to the day after his arrival, Zuko realizes that he will never again taste papaya, and he falls into a depression. He knows it’s stupid, but his embarrassment only makes him angry, and he yells at everyone for a week. Finally, Katara forces him out in a canoe with her and Sokka to tell them what’s really bothering him.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he broods.

“Try us,” Katara says, determined.

“I can never go home, okay?” he shouts in frustration. “I’m stuck here forever.”

“Hey!” Sokka bristles “I thought you kinda liked it here.”

“That’s not the point!” Zuko shouts. “It’s not my _choice_ to be here. If I try to go back, my own father will have me killed! He’ll make my scar look like nothing!”

Katara and Sokka stare at him in horror. Zuko realizes his mistake.

“Your _dad_ did that to you?” Katara whispers. “Oh, _Zuko_.”

“I don’t need your pity,” Zuko spits. He is mortified: he may have told Sokka and Katara that he was exiled, and they had certainly guessed his still-frequent nightmares were about his scar, but he had not mentioned his father’s involvement.

“That is super messed up,” Sokka says, looking a little green.

“Shut up,” Zuko hisses.

“Zuko…”

“Get me out of this stupid canoe, Katara. I’m done talking.”

“No!” Katara shouts. “You’ve been a jerk all week, and we’re not letting you out until you’re back to normal.”

“Oh, so this is a kidnapping, then?” Zuko asks sardonically. 

“Here we go,” Sokka sighs.

“Shut up!” Katara and Zuko both shout. 

Sokka sighs. A distant part of Zuko does feel a little bad that Sokka is stuck watching another shouting match between him and Katara, but most of his thoughts are focused on the argument. He thinks of all the mean things he can say to Katara, ways he can really hurt her. She should know what he feels like; she should hurt like he hurts.

Zuko sits down abruptly, horrified at his own thoughts. He wanted to _hurt_ Katara? No, that wasn’t right. He would never hurt her. 

And yet he had. Several times, actually. He thought of all their previous shouting matches before, ones he had started and ones she had. Had that been what it had been all about? Just wanting someone to feel the same pain they felt?

Katara stares at Zuko, confused why their fight has suddenly stopped.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks.

Zuko blinks, having forgotten about her and Sokka’s presence. He looks at both of them, eyes wide.

“I...” he rasps. “I…”

He’s not sure how to explain his behavior, and for some reason, a powerful image of Uncle Iroh comes to his mind. What would Uncle Iroh do? Say something incomprehensibly convoluted, probably. But he would be honest, too. Maybe that was the best course of action?

“I get mad sometimes,” Zuko says slowly. “I get scared because I’m not in control. I don’t know what’s going to happen to me here, if I’m really going to be here forever or not. And it feels better to get mad than to be scared, so…”

He trails off with a shrug. It sounds totally crazy to say out loud, so he stares at the bottom of the canoe to avoid Sokka and Katara’s gaze.

“I feel that way sometimes, too,” Katara whispers.

“Yeah,” Sokka adds. “Same.”

“But… but you both belong here.”

“Do we?” Katara asks with a rueful smile. “I’m a waterbender with no teacher, and Sokka is a hunter with no team, other than you, of course. Don’t get me wrong — these are our people, and we love them — but sometimes… sometimes it’s hard to feel like we fit in. At least, it is for me.”

Katara looks over at Sokka, who nods thoughtfully.

“Me too,” he confirms. “It’s nice have you around, Zuko. If you don’t want to be here forever, I get it but… you’re pretty cool when you’re not being all shout-y. It’s nice having you around.”

Zuko feels his heart lift. He thanks the memory of Uncle Iroh for the advice. Zuko shares some of his seal jerky with Sokka and Katara as they row back, grateful to have friends who listen to him, even when he’s being a jerk.

They row back to land to find the village in a frenzy of activity. Ships have been spotted on the horizon: the warriors are returning.

Sokka and Katara are ecstatic. They zip around the village, preparing for the welcome feast, debating which news to deliver to their dad first. Zuko follows at a more sedated pace. While everyone else in the village is thrilled at the return of the men, Zuko is worried. He has struggled to find his place in the tribe, and the arrival of the warriors will surely disrupt the delicate balance he has found. He and Sokka will no longer be the dynamic duo of hunting, and Zuko is sure that the men will not want their newborn sons and daughters held by a former Fire Nation prince. 

As the ships draw close, Zuko grows more and more quiet. Sokka doesn’t seem to notice — he is too busy sharpening his favorite spear to show his dad — but Katara pulls him aside.

“Zuko, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”

Katara glares at him. Zuko sighs.

“They all hate me, Katara.”

“No, they don’t! They saved your life, didn’t they?”

“Your dad only did that because he didn’t want to kill a kid. But I’m almost sixteen now — that’s barely a kid anymore. What if… what if they changed their minds?”

“I won’t let them hurt you, Zuko,” Katara says fiercely. “You're our friend. And you’ve helped the tribe just as much as anyone else. If anything, they should be thanking you for keeping us warm and fed all winter.”

“I didn’t —“

But Zuko’s protests are cut short as a gaggle of giggling children surround him, hugging his legs.

“Up! Up!” they shout delightedly.

Katara tries not to laugh as Zuko resignedly lifts the children in the air one by one. They squeal with excitement as he tosses them in turn, forming a line behind him. 

“Do you need help setting up the bonfire?” Zuko asks Katara. “Because this could take a while.”

Katara smiles.

“I’ll come get you when we’re ready to light it. You’re needed here,” she says, winking. 

His arms are tired by the end of the afternoon, but at least playing with the kids has helped him burn off some nervous energy. Plus, he figures it’s not a bad strategy to endear himself a little more to the villagers, who are grateful that the children are not underfoot while preparations are underway.

As the warrior canoes sail into the harbor, the entire village goes out to greet them. Zuko stands in the back, trying to make himself invisible. He watches as Katara and Sokka throw their arms around their father. His eyes sting and his throat feels tight; he can’t remember the last time he hugged his own father. 

At that exact moment, Hakoda looks up and meets Zuko’s eyes. He isn’t as well-hidden in the crowd as he thought. Hakoda gives a curt nod and turns his attention back to his children. Zuko lets out a sigh of relief. He probably won’t be thrown out on the ice to die tonight.

The feast rages through the evening. The men share tales of their adventures to delighted children, and there is laughter and song. Zuko tries to stay out of the action, but the elders frequently call him to stoke the fire, or a young mother asks him to calm a squalling baby while she eats her dinner. The men watch Zuko with suspicion as he does these tasks, especially the childcare. Zuko takes some pride in the fact that he at least does these jobs well: the fire rages for hours and all the children are asleep in their beds by a reasonable hour. Soon, only the adults are awake. Katara and Sokka keep nodding off by the fire and Kanna sends them to bed. Zuko turns to go with them, but Hakoda places a hand on his shoulder.

“Zuko, a word.”

Zuko gulps. Maybe he was too optimistic about his survival chances. He turns back to the fire where all the elders, women, and warriors are gathered. Whatever Hakoda asks Zuko, he will have to answer to all of them.

“I have heard,” Hakoda begins slowly, “that you have been busy in our absence.”

Zuko isn’t quite sure if this is intended as a question, so he stays quiet.

“Sokka tells me you have led many successful hunts.”

“Sokka was the leader,” Zuko says quickly. “I was just there to help.”

“That’s not quite how he tells it,” Hakoda says. He seems amused by Zuko’s modesty. “It seems you were the one who took down that first moose-elk.”

“Well, yeah,” Zuko says nervously. “But it was Sokka’s plan. Without him, we never would’ve caught it.”

Hakoda nods, seemingly satisfied with this answer.

“I have also heard,” Hakoda continues, “and have observed this evening, that you take care of the children.”

Zuko can feel himself blushing. Some of the warriors are sniggering.

“Don’t laugh!” Kallik stands and turns to scold the young warriors closest to her. “He took care of Amaqjuaq when no one else would — everyone else just left him to die! Zuko was the only one who kept him warm.”

Her eyes are filled with tears. Zuko stares at her, shocked.

“Sokka and Katara helped,” he says quickly. “They kept Amaqjuaq alive, too.”

“Yes,” Kallik agrees. “More than anyone else here.”

She glares at the elders, especially the old man who told Zuko not to bother soothing Amaqjuaq. Zuko can never remember his name, probably because he just refers to him as ‘that old fucking bastard’ in his head. 

Hakoda turns gravely to Zuko.

“Is this true, Zuko?”

“I… well, I mean, I _did_ keep the baby warm. Everyone said he was too small to make it, but he just needed some extra help. And he’s fine now — he just learned how to sit up last week!”

The amusement of the warriors has faded, and they all look at Zuko with solemn expressions. Nanouk, Kallik’s husband, stands and approaches Zuko. Zuko does his best not to flinch; he hopes that Nanouk does not try to use the extremely sharp-looking knife strapped to his hip.

Nanouk surprises him: he bows.

“You have saved my son’s life,” Nanouk says to Zuko’s utter astonishment. “You have helped our people even though you are not one of us. I owe you a great debt, Zuko, son of Ozai.”

“Just Zuko, please,” Zuko says quickly. He knows people around here are very proud of their lineage, but Zuko would rather not be associated with his father.

Nanouk nods.

“Zuko, then,” he agrees. “Thank you for your service.”

The rest of the warriors bow their heads in his direction. This is definitely _not_ how Zuko thought this conversation would go.

Hakoda rises, a slight smile on his face.

“You should go get some rest, Zuko,” he says kindly. “I will walk with you to the yurt; there are some maps there I would like to get for Bato.”

They walk together towards the small family hut. Zuko can already hear Sokka snoring inside. Before they enter, Hakoda lays a hand on Zuko’s shoulder again.

“You should be very proud of what you have done here,” Hakoda says. “It is an honorable thing to save an innocent’s life.”

The mention of honor makes Zuko’s stomach squirm. He looks down at his feet.

“You have done well, my son. Goodnight.”

Zuko’s eyes go wide. The Southern Water Tribe often speaks like this: Katara and Sokka call every elder ‘auntie’ or ‘uncle,’ and they usually call them ‘my son’ or ‘my daughter’ back. Zuko had always seen this as a rather quaint colloquialism of the Water Tribe, but he had never been included in it.

He crawls into his sleeping sack as Hakoda quietly rummages through his maps. Zuko shuts his eyes and pretends to fall asleep until Hakoda leaves.

 _My son_.

It had been said so casually, so freely. Maybe it had been said purely out of habit, but no one else had said it to him before. Zuko thinks back to the last time he had spoken to his own father.

 _You are no son of mine_.

Ozai’s cold tone echoes in Zuko’s mind, warring with Hakoda’s warm voice. Zuko rolls over towards Katara, whose face is slack with sleep. Zuko wonders what it would be like to have someone like Hakoda as his dad. Someone who actually loved him.

Zuko is glad Katara and Sokka are asleep so they cannot hear him cry.

—

Life falls back into its patterns. Seasons pass, the warriors come and go, and Zuko grows about half a foot. This happens without his notice: the next winter, he goes to put on his warmer pants and they are comically short. Katara has to sew him an emergency pair. He notices the little flames she sews are getting better, and she blushes prettily when he compliments her work.

Zuko isn’t the only one growing. When spring comes again, he can see that Sokka’s arms are more muscular than the year before. Sokka pridefully walks around without a shirt on until his lips are blue and Kanna chastises him. Zuko warms Sokka’s shirt for him without comment; he, too, is rather proud of his hunting muscles, but he would never think to show them off.

More disturbing is when Katara sheds her heavy parka. Zuko tries to ignore it, but there are clearly curves that had not been so pronounced before. He had been aware that Katara was becoming a woman — he could feel something under her parka when she hugged him, and he felt guilty for thinking about it. But now it was unavoidable: Katara’s tunic stretches across her chest, her wide hips swaying as she walks. Zuko doesn’t want to stare, but Katara is _very_ pretty. Sometimes he thinks Sokka catches him looking, but he never says anything about it, for which Zuko is extremely grateful.

Zuko distracts himself with his many tasks around the village: hunts with Sokka, bending practice with Katara, wrangling the horde of children who want to play with him. He is startled to find that he is actually happy here. Though he still has pangs of longing for the Fire Nation, he cannot shake the feeling that he is more at home here in a tiny yurt than he ever was in a palace.

There are some traditions he wants to keep, however. On his eighteenth birthday, he wanders away from the village to a quiet spot overlooking the harbor. He lays out an offering to the spirits. Zuko is not a particularly spiritual person — in fact, he had always complained about this part of the birthday ritual when his mother made him do it as a child — but something about this reminds him of home. His offerings are a far cry from what he had used as a child. Instead of fresh papaya, lotus blossoms, and incense, Zuko arranges a wreath of moose-elk antlers around him. There isn’t much else that the tribe can spare in way of supplies, and leaving food out in the tundra is just asking for an unwelcome visit from a polar-dog. Still, Zuko takes pains to arrange the antlers in a pleasing array before he kneels in front of it.

“Great fire spirit Agni,” he begins, shifting uncomfortably. “Sorry, it’s been a while. I, er… had a lot going on. I know it’s a lot to ask you for help on my birthday, but since I didn’t ask you for anything the past few years, maybe you could help me out?”

“First off, if you could… if you could watch over my mother, please help her be at peace, wherever she is. If… if she’s in the Spirit World with you…” his voice cracks. “Please tell her I miss her.”

He wipes tears from his eyes and takes a deep breath before he continues.

“If you could watch over Uncle Iroh, too, that would be great. Make sure he’s getting plenty of tea, he likes that. And I guess if you could make sure Azula was happy… as long as it’s not at someone else’s expense, of course.”

“Please keep Chief Hakoda and his warriors safe so they can return to their families. Grant the villagers here a mild winter and a plentiful spring. Oh, and if you could arrange so that Sokka takes down a really big moose-elk for his next birthday, that would be really great.”

Zuko hesitates. His mother had instructed that when communing with spirits, he should refrain from asking for too many things for himself. In truth, Zuko only wants one thing, but it’s a big one.

“And for Katara…” he says slowly. “Please help her with her bending. I know she’ll have to go to the North Pole eventually, so please let them be nice to her when she goes. And I know that she’ll probably find a husband up there but… but maybe you could…”

Zuko stumbles over his words. How can he possibly ask Agni to interfere in Katara’s love life on his behalf?

“Just help her find the right person,” he finishes lamely. “Someone who will make her happy.”

Zuko bows and recites the prayers he memorized as a child. He leaves the antlers behind. Most likely, some of the children will find them and use them as toys, but it is bad luck to dismantle one’s own altar, so he trudges back to the village empty-handed. When Katara waves to him upon his arrival, he flushes and ducks into the first tent he can find.

The next major event in the village is Sokka’s eighteenth birthday. While Zuko had been happy to celebrate his own birthday quietly, Sokka’s coming of age means that he is finally a man in the eyes of his tribe. Katara and Zuko help him dress in the ceremonial garb and paint his face. Sokka does, in fact, catch a moose-elk for his birthday with Zuko’s help, so there is a full feast to accompany the day. The elders bless Sokka and chant their thanks to Tui and La for what seems like hours. It’s a long ritual, but Zuko is happy for his friend. Sokka has waited for this day for a long time.

The next morning, Zuko and Sokka lounge in the communal yurt, legs elevated after their big hunt. They are idly throwing and catching a ball — keeping their depth perception sharp, as Sokka explains seriously to the small children who want to steal their ball — when a panic comes over Zuko.

“If you’re a man now, doesn’t that mean you’re going to join your dad and his men when they come back?”

He doesn’t ask it outright, but what he really means is: _are you leaving us behind?_

Sokka fidgets uncomfortably.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he says slowly. “That’s what I always wanted: to travel with Dad and the rest of the warriors. But Dad always says that a true warrior goes where he is needed. As much as I want to go fight with them, I think I’m needed here more.”

Zuko breathes a sigh of relief, but Sokka continues. 

“But if I _did_ leave, you would still be here to defend the village,” he says thoughtfully. “You could do a pretty good job of defending our people. You and Katara, I guess.”

Zuko turns to look at Sokka.

“You would trust me to do that?”

“Of course,” Sokka says without hesitation. “You _would_ do it right?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Does that mean… does that mean you think you _will_ leave?”

“I don’t know,” Sokka sighs. “I don’t think it’s the right time. Besides, at some point Katara is going to have to leave to go to the North Pole and find a husband —“ Zuko’s stomach clenches painfully at this — “and she’ll need someone to go with her. I might as well wait until she’s ready to leave. It’s my duty to protect her, too.”

“So… you won’t leave for a while?”

“Nah,” Sokka says, smiling. “You’re stuck with me, buddy.”

Another year melts by before Zuko thinks of this conversation again. It is just after Katara’s seventeenth birthday, and she is acting very strangely. She starts avoiding bending practice, which she has never done before. Zuko spots her one day up on the bluff above the village overlooking the harbor. He climbs up to join her, thinking of the year before when he had set up his antlers here. He would have to find more soon; his nineteenth birthday was coming up.

Katara turns her head when she hears his crunching footsteps, but looks back to the harbor without greeting him. Zuko sits down next to her, waiting for her to speak.

“I’m not getting any better, am I?”

It takes Zuko a moment to realize what she is talking about. She looks distractingly pretty in the setting sun.

“Oh, your bending? Is that why you’re avoiding practice?” he asks.

Katara sighs and nods. Zuko’s heart sinks. Katara had made great strides in waterbending, but even Zuko had to admit that she had reached a plateau over the past few months.

“Maybe…” Zuko says reluctantly. “Maybe it’s time to go to the North Pole, then?”

Katara’s eyes well with tears.

“But I don’t want to go,” she whispers.

“Why not? Don’t you want to become a waterbending master?”

“Of course I do! But I don’t want to leave you.”

Zuko goes still. His heart pounds. Did she mean…?

“I can’t leave the village, Zuko,” Katara continues.

Zuko’s heart drops. The village, of course.

“They’ll be okay without you for a while,” Zuko says in what he hopes is a confident tone. “They’ll understand.”

“It’s not just that,” Katara sighs. “I’ve heard the elders talking. They want me to find a husband, too.”

Zuko thinks he might be sick.

“Oh,” he says dully. “Well, maybe you’ll meet some amazing waterbender and you can have waterbending babies together. That’s what you want, right?”

“I thought I did,” Katara says, nervously scuffing her feet in the snow. “But I don’t want to be someone’s wife just yet. And if I have babies… I know being a mother is great, but if I do that now, it’s all I’ll ever do. I want to fight. I want to _be_ someone. And if I find a husband now, I’ll just be his shadow instead.”

Zuko’s chest feels tight with some emotion he cannot name. He takes a few deep breaths before he answers.

“You don’t have to find a husband, Katara. Or if you do find one, you don’t have to marry him right away. Anyone would be lucky to marry you. If he’s smart, he’ll want you to follow your destiny. He can wait for you, Katara. You’re worth it.”

Katara gives him a watery smile and throws her arms around his neck. Zuko inhales her scent, the salt of the sea and the musk of warm furs. His heart swells painfully in his chest.

 _I would wait for you_ , he thinks. _I think you’re worth it_.

Instead, he stays silent. He just holds Katara for a moment, and that is enough.

When she pulls away, she is smiling without tears.

“Thanks, Zuko,” she says shyly. “You always know the right thing to say.”

Zuko snorts.

“Are you forgetting this morning when I accidentally insulted the porridge you made?”

Katara laughs.

“Yeah, ‘unique flavor’ was maybe not the best way to describe it. I guess it’s better to say that you’re always honest with me, and I appreciate that.”

They walk back to the village together. Zuko still feels anxious at the idea of Katara leaving, but he tries to ignore it. It will take some time to prepare for such a long journey. Perhaps Zuko will come to terms with her departure before the time comes.

—

Only two days later, Katara insists on a fishing trip with Zuko and Sokka. It has been a while since all three of them have gone canoeing together — usually at least one of them is needed in the village — but luckily they are able to get away and enjoy the bright blue summer day. 

Katara and Sokka start bickering around lunch time. Zuko suspects that this is because Sokka is hungry, and goes to dig out some jerky from his bag. Before he can pull it out, Sokka taunts Katara.

“Oooh, Katara and her magic water!” Sokka jokes, miming waterbending. “Can’t you just push the canoe back to the village?”

“I’ve got better things to do than move your fat behind,” Katara sniffs.

“Prove it!”

“You want waterbending? I’ll show you!”

Katara raises her hands in position and Zuko crouches into the safety of the canoe. He knows that look on Katara’s face — she means business.

It’s one of the best water-whips he’s seen her make before. It cracks across the face of a nearby iceberg and is followed by three more. The smacks echo through the empty bay, the spray from the whips misting over their faces. Katara sits back down, panting a bit at the effort.

“Okay, fine,” Sokka admits. “That was pretty —“

The rest of Sokka’s sentence is drowned out by a terrible crunching. Sokka grabs the oars of the canoe and tries to paddle backwards, but the iceberg gives a great groan and cleaves in two. The ice plunges into the water, sending the canoe rocking dangerously as the three of them struggle to keep it upright.

They are distracted from their fear by a bright, blinding light. Zuko’s jaw drops. 

There is a boy in the iceberg.

Sokka, Katara, and Zuko exchange looks for a moment before paddling furiously over to the ice. They haul the canoe out and run over to the boy, who is stirring from what appears to be a deep sleep. Katara reaches him first, checking for a pulse.

The boy blinks up at her, wide, grey eyes staring in wonder.

“Hi!” he says cheerfully. “I’m Aang. Do you want to go penguin sledding with me?”

Katara and Sokka start asking the boy questions — there appears to be an enormous bison emerging from the same iceberg, and that causes some alarm — but Zuko can hardly hear anything over the buzzing in his head. His mind races: the bright light, the boy’s tattoos, his clothing...

Without thinking, Zuko pulls out his knife and walks over the boy, now cheerfully chatting with Katara. He grabs the boy’s arm and yanks him close, knife pressed to his throat.

“Zuko, what are you _doing_?!” Katara cries in alarm. Sokka reaches for his own knife, staring at Zuko fearfully.

It takes a moment for Zuko’s thoughts to catch up with him. He doesn’t let go of the boy, however. Not when he’s been looking for him for so long.

The Avatar, alive and well. Zuko’s ticket home.

Zuko blinks. _Home_? Is that really where he wanted to go?

He thinks of his mother and his uncle, of freshly cut papaya and meat seasoned with fire flakes. He thinks of the festivals he has missed, the lush trees and humid days. His heart aches to see it all again, to fulfill his destiny and regain his honor.

But then he thinks of his father and his blood runs cold. If he returned to the Fire Nation, he would be Prince Zuko again, and he had been rather happy as just regular Zuko. He thinks back to when Chief Hakoda had told him he had done the honorable thing in saving baby Amaqjuaq. Zuko has found a life here, a purpose. Maybe not one that would sustain him forever — he thinks about Katara and Sokka’s imminent departure to the North Pole — but certainly his life here has not been so bad. Maybe even better than it would have been in the Fire Nation.

Sokka and Katara have been shouting in panic at Zuko while he thinks, staring into the boy’s huge eyes. Finally he loosens his grip, and the boy steps back quickly.

“What the hell was that all about?” Sokka demands, looking furious. “Zuko, you can’t just go around attacking random people —“ 

“He’s not a random person,” Zuko chokes out. “He’s the Avatar.”

An awkward silence falls. The young boy —Aang, Zuko reminds himself — rubs his head nervously.

“The Avatar?” Katara repeats. “But… but no one has seen the Avatar in one hundred years.”

Aang looks puzzled by this.

“What do you mean?”

“The Avatar disappeared a hundred years ago,” Sokka explains. “Right when the Fire Nation started a war.”

Aang looks shocked.

“The Hundred Years War?” Sokka tries. “Y’know, the conflict that’s been sweeping the globe for the past several decades? Seriously, how long were you stuck in that iceberg?”

“About a hundred years, give or take,” Zuko says darkly.

“That’s impossible,” Katara says. “He’s not the Avatar, Zuko. He’s just a kid like us.”

Sokka looks insulted to be referred to as a kid, but Zuko cuts off his protests.

“Katara, you know that I had to search for the Avatar after my exile. I read all the texts. That white light we just saw? That’s a sign of the Avatar. And look at him — he’s got airbender tattoos and monk’s robes. He’s even got a flying bison with him, and those have been extinct for years!”

Of all the things to look upset about, Aang looks most stricken by this.

“What do you mean? Appa’s herd is extinct? And why do you keep talking like it’s been so long since I — I mean, uh, the Avatar — disappeared?”

Zuko rolls his eyes.

“Look, I expected to find some old man and not a kid, but I can tell you’re the Avatar, so you can stop denying it. And don’t play dumb — you’ve been hiding here for ages.”

“Maybe not,” Katara says slowly. “Aang, who is the leader of the Fire Nation?”

“Firelord Sozin,” Aang says quickly. His expression looks worried. “Monk Gyatso just told me that the Firelord is making moves to start a war. I… I was supposed to hide out for a while. I’m not fully trained yet, so I came here to learn waterbending, only there was a really bad storm. But I hope I’m not too late — the Southern Water Tribe is supposed to have great benders, so maybe they can teach me!”

Sokka, Katara, and Zuko exchange another look.

“What?”

“Aang,” Zuko says slowly. “I’m Firelord Sozin’s great-grandson. You’ve been missing for a hundred years.”

Aang pales, looking at Katara and Sokka for support.

“You’re the only airbender left,” Katara says sadly.

“What do you mean?” Aang asks. 

“The Fire Nation killed them all,” Sokka says. Zuko fidgets — he had momentarily forgotten this unpleasant fact. “When Firelord Sozin started the war, he killed all the airbenders, probably to try to get to you. Then they came and wiped out most of our tribe. Katara is the only bender we’ve had in a generation.”

Aang looks horrified.

“No, you’re… you’re lying,” he says, panicked. “That can’t be true! This is some sort of joke, right? Look, I’m really sorry I ran away —“

“Ran away?” Zuko asks, suspicious. “I thought you were coming here for training?”

“Well,” Aang says, looking uncomfortable. “Yes, that’s what I was _supposed_ to do, but I thought maybe I could do some penguin sledding first. You know, do something fun before I have be all Avatar-y.”

Zuko sees red. He feels like his blood is boiling, and it’s all he can do just to keep himself from bursting into flames. He seizes Aang by the front of his robes and holds him up, shaking with fury. Katara and Sokka shout again in alarm, but Zuko pays them no heed.

“You,” he hisses in Aang’s face. “You wanted to do something _fun_? Because of you, all your people are _dead_. Every man, woman, and child wiped off the face of the earth. Do you know how many people have been killed in this war? How much suffering _you_ could have stopped? You were supposed to do your duty and instead you doomed us all!”

“Zuko, enough!” Katara yells. “You’re scaring him!”

“You’re way out of line,” Sokka adds, pulling Zuko away from Aang. “Telling him it’s his fault his people are dead when _your_ people are the ones who killed all the airbenders.”

Zuko feels a shame so strong, any fire he had felt inside him dies instantly. What had he been thinking?

Aang looks on the verge of tears, Katara offering him a comforting pat on the shoulder. Sokka glares at Zuko, clearly waiting for an apology.

Zuko grunts and storms off. He’s not really sure where he’s going, but he can’t sit around and make friends with the Avatar. The Avatar had ruined his life.

The longer Zuko walks, the more his fire comes back. He stops to go through his firebending exercises, slashing at the air with more fury than he has ever felt. When he is too tired to keep fighting, he lets out a scream of frustration.

Apparently, he has not wandered too far from his friends, because they arrive moments later on the back of the flying bison. Zuko has to admit, despite his anger, seeing a flying bison is a pretty awe-inspiring experience.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” Sokka says, alighting from the large saddle on the bison. “Zuko, you need to apologize to Aang.”

“For what?”

“Come on, man, don’t be a dick.”

“Fine,” Zuko growls. He bows as propriety dictates, but he’s not happy about it. “Avatar Aang, I regret my earlier words. They were cruel, and I should not have let my anger get the better of me.”

It’s not the best apology in the world — it does not escape Zuko’s attention that he has not actually used the word ‘sorry’ — but at least it’s the truth.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” Aang says mournfully. ”I was just scared and…”

He trails off, looking miserable. Something tightens in Zuko’s chest. He’s made plenty of mistakes when he was scared, after all. Zuko sighs.

“To be honest, it probably wouldn’t have stopped Firelord Sozin if you were still around,” Zuko says. “He was totally crazy. All the Firelords are totally crazy.”

“Um…” Aang says nervously. “Didn’t you say you were related to them?”

“Yeah, that’s how I know they’re all insane. Even me, I guess. I mean, I just held a knife to your throat.”

Strangely, Aang seems to find this amusing. He smiles at Zuko and Zuko, a little confused, smiles back.

“We told Aang who you are,” Katara says. “He’s caught up about Firelord Ozai now.”

“Did you tell him about…”

“No,” Katara says firmly.

“Tell me about what?”

“Avatar Aang —“ Zuko begins.

Aang winces.

“Please just call me Aang,” he says.

“Okay, Aang. Before you disappeared, you were supposed to train to take down the Firelord, right?”

“Not really. The Avatar is supposed to keep balance. If Firelord Sozin was really going to… well I guess he _did_ try to take over the world... then, yes, I would have tried to stop him.”

“And now that Ozai is doing the same, you’ll try to bring him down, right?”

Aang looks worried.

“I guess I have to, don’t I?”

“You do,” Zuko says solemnly. “I ask that you show mercy to the people of the Fire Nation, but you have to take down the Firelord.”

“Isn’t he your dad?” Aang asks, alarmed.

“He’s the one who did this to my face. I was thirteen.”

Aang looks stunned, but after a moment, he nods.

“Okay. If it will bring about balance, I can stop him. I guess I already failed once… I have to make things right.”

He seems terrified, but his eyes shine brightly. For the first time ever, Zuko has a flicker of hope. Maybe the war can be brought to an end, and peace will prevail. Even if Aang is just a kid, he’s still the Avatar.

“Where do we start?” Sokka asks, breaking the silence.

“I have to learn waterbending,” Aang says. “I have to learn the elements in a certain order. I already have air down!” he adds proudly. A gust of wind swirls under him, and he scoots over the ice around their group.

Katara looks at Zuko, her eyes sad.

“I guess it’s time to go to the North Pole.”

—

Katara and Sokka spend their last week with the Southern Water Tribe preparing for their departure. The actual packing they need to do takes mere minutes, but they both want to tie up loose ends. Sokka insists that he and Zuko go on one last big hunt to provide for the tribe, while Katara helps her grandmother mend all of the skins that hold the yurt together. No one is sure how long their journey will take, but given the weather of the South Pole, it is unlikely they will return until winter is over. 

When he’s not hunting with Sokka, Zuko spends quite a bit of time with Aang. Aang is, understandably, quite wary of Zuko at first, and Zuko isn’t exactly eager to talk to Aang, either. 

Zuko is trying to wrangle the small troupe of children following him around, when Aang breezes over on his air scooter. The children are enthralled. 

Aang is really good with kids, maybe because he has a childlike sense of glee for just about everything. He takes the children penguin sledding and teaches them songs and dances. Zuko appreciates the help — he’s usually outnumbered ten to one — and it’s a hard job. Aang is creative, and the kids love his games and stories. Zuko still serves as their favorite warming pad and climbing gym, but he’s never been good at being silly with the kids. They seem to love it, laughing uproariously when Aang makes funny faces at them.

By the end of the week, Zuko would be hard-pressed to call Aang a real friend, but he respects the young monk. He remembers being told at eleven that he would be the Firelord someday, and he had not always handled it very well. He supposes he can understand why a fifteen-year-old would run away from being the world’s savior.

As Appa is laden with jerky and supplies for the long journey north, Zuko says his goodbyes. He gives Aang a formal bow, but is surprised when the young monk hugs him.

“I hope I can make it up to you,” Aang says when he pulls away. “You know, for messing everything up.”

“You didn’t mess everything up,” Zuko protests. “I’m sorry I said that to you. I get it. You were just trying to find your own path.”

“That’s very wise of you, Zuko.”

“Something my uncle used to say,” Zuko mumbles, embarrassed. “Anyway, once you learn water and earthbending, you’ll come back here, right?”

“What about fire?”

“I’ll teach you. I mean, I’m not a master, but you’ll have a hard time finding someone in the Fire Nation to help you out. It’s safer here.”

Aang beams at him and gives him another hug.

“Thanks, Zuko!” Aang says brightly. “Katara was right about you. She said you were really nice once you trusted people.”

Zuko feels his face heat. He is saved from further embarrassment by Sokka dramatically tackling him.

“Oof! Is this your way of saying goodbye?”

“Promise me you’ll try the one-man moose-elk tackle, okay? And let me know if it works!”

“Sure, Sokka. Any other terrible ideas you have for me?”

“Psh, it’s a perfect plan!”

“Why didn’t you try it then?”

“Well, it’s time to get going,” Sokka says hastily. “Look, Zuko,” he adds more seriously. “I know it’s going to be hard here by yourself, but you’ve got the whole village on your side. Take care, okay?”

This rare display of sentimentality from Sokka makes Zuko feel strangely choked up.

“Take care, buddy,” he says, returning Sokka’s hug.

Sokka steps back with a last hearty clap on Zuko’s shoulder. He and Aang turn to Appa to check that their bags are secure.

“Bye, Zuko.”

Zuko turns to see Katara at his side, looking up at him with a wistful expression. His heart feels like it is breaking in two.

“Be safe, Katara.”

She gives him a long, lingering hug. Zuko allows himself to savor the feel of her body, the salt and smoke scent of her hair. He is not sure he will survive this parting.

Katara steps away, her eyes wet.

“We’ll be back before you know it,” she says with a shaky smile. “You probably won’t even miss us.”

“I’ll miss you a lot,” he says. Katara had said she liked his honesty, so he figures he might as well use the one thing he has going for him. These words, however, only make her look more bereft.

“You’ll probably be back soon,” he says with some forced cheer. “You’re going to become a master waterbender in no time, I know it.”

“Thanks, Zuko.”

Sokka shouts from the top of the bison that they are ready. Katara gives Zuko one last hug.

“Please take care of yourself,” she whispers, holding Zuko with an iron grip.

“You too,” he whispers back.

She steps away, grabbing Aang’s hand to hoist her up into the saddle. The villagers assembled on the ice to watch their departure wave as the bison moves skyward. No one cheers or speaks; as much as they had expected this moment, no one wants to say goodbye.

Zuko returns to the yurt, just him and Kanna now. She pats his head affectionately.

“I know you will miss them, Zuko,” she says kindly. “It is alright to grieve when you need to.”

Zuko nods, throat tight.

“Thank you, Kanna,” he says thickly.

“I’ve told you a thousand times. Please, call me Gran-Gran.”

“Okay. Thank you, Gran-Gran.”

They eat the rest of their dinner in silence before bed. Zuko stares at the ceiling for a long time. Tomorrow, he would begin his first day in the South Pole without his friends. He tries to stay awake, hoping the new day will not come just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sticking with Zuko's POV for most of the story - next chapter we'll see what happens now that he's been separated from his friends. Hope you're enjoying the story!


	3. Book Two: On the Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another very long chapter for you guys... enjoy! (Also, I sort of forgot there was a character in the Legend of Korra named Bolin — the OC here has nothing to do with him.).

The bright, end-of-summer sun seems to be taunting Zuko. Of course the weather is perfect now that his life is terrible again.

Perhaps ‘terrible’ is a bit of an overstatement. After all, Zuko has a roof over his head and food in his belly. But the loneliness is crushing, and the whole village seems muted and melancholy without Sokka or Katara. Zuko certainly isn’t the only one mourning their departure.

He tries to distract himself with hunting and firebending. Hunting alone takes a while to adjust to — he’s used to having at least Sokka by his side, and occasionally Katara to help scare the moose-elk their way — so for a while, he sticks to hunting single rabbit-foxes. It’s much less meat, but it’s better than nothing. He tries to go after moose-elk and fails miserably, but he doesn’t give up. Day after day, he goes out, determined to try out Sokka’s more insane hunting plans.

Finally, one of them actually works. Zuko uses a fire blast to startle the herd, luring them upwards onto the plateau. He throws his spear but it goes wide. Still, the movement causes two moose-elk to turn away in panic, sending themselves tumbling over the cliff.

Zuko races down to his prey. One moose-elk has been killed by the fall, and he quickly puts the other out of its misery. He tries to do Sokka’s traditional prayer to Tui and La to thank them, but he can’t remember all the words. It feels weird to pray to water spirits, but Zuko supposes that since it is food for a water tribe, they’re the right ones to thank. He adds an extra prayer to Agni, just in case.

Zuko’s massive haul is the first cause for celebration since Sokka and Katara’s departure. It is not the rowdiest feast Zuko has ever attended, but the villagers seem happy. Many of the elders refer to him as ‘son’ when they praise him, and it makes Zuko feel both embarrassed and proud. He’s too awkward to say anything back, so he just bows stiffly and walks away.

The next day, he decides to rest and spends most of his afternoon lounging in the community hut with an army of children clambering over him. Little Amaqjuaq, now three years old, scolds anyone who plays too roughly with his ‘ _Zu_.’Zuko knows he’s not supposed to have favorites, but he lets Amaqjuaq snuggle up next to him for a nap even though he’s supposed to go to his own sleep sack. For once, Zuko feels a sense of peace. Perhaps he is just exhausted from all his hunting.

The tranquility he feels vanishes the next morning. A ship is approaching the harbor.

This is far and away the worst possible scenario for the village. Chief Hakoda and his warriors have been gone since the spring, and will not return for almost a year. They could be around the globe right now for all Zuko knew. Katara and Sokka, while not trained warriors, could at least help protect the village in some ways. Now, Zuko is the only young man who remains, and while he could certainly fight, doing so would reveal his firebending. This was a huge risk: if the attackers were themselves firebenders, they might find out who he was and assume that the Southern Water Tribe had kidnapped him, or that he had defected to their side of the war. Either way, it would cause an international incident that would put the Southern Water Tribe in the focus of the Fire Nation. They could not defend themselves.

Still, Zuko arms himself with every weapon he can find, ready to fight. He remembers his promise to Katara as children, that he would help her people and keep them safe. He would rather die than fail her.

The elder men join him as they walk out to meet the ship. They may limp a little, but Zuko knows that they, too, are prepared to fight to the death. They carry clubs and spears; several of them have painted their faces in traditional warrior paint. They had offered some to Zuko — a true mark of honor, he realized — and so he, too, bore the markings of a water tribe warrior. He felt a bit like a fraud, but at least it drew attention away from his distinctive scar and golden eyes.

The ship is an old Fire Nation junker, but it does not fly the flag. That doesn’t mean much — Zuko’s ship of exile had also not flown a flag, as Ozai had deemed him unworthy to use it — but there’s a small chance that these are just lost fishermen. Perhaps Zuko and the elders can scare them off without a fight.

It takes a while for the ship to dock and extend a gangplank out onto the ice. Zuko and the elders stand tall, waiting. The ship’s crew, heavily bundled in furs, approaches slowly. Zuko steps forward.

“State your business,” he growls. He is gratified by the deep tenor of his voice; it makes the men approaching him stop short.

“We come in peace. We have an important message for the Southern Water Tribe. We believe you are in great danger.”

Zuko’s heart races. It’s hard to see through the fluff of the man’s parka, but Zuko knows that voice.

“Uncle?”

The man freezes for a moment, then throws back his hood.

“Prince Zuko?”

Zuko lowers his raised club, taking a tentative step forward. Uncle Iroh strides towards him purposefully and grabs him by the shoulders.

“It _is_ you,” Iroh breathes. His eyes well with tears. “Nephew, I thought I had lost you forever.”

Zuko’s stomach is roiling. He’s never seen his uncle cry before, and he’s still not sure this isn’t some elaborate trick. He can feel the elders staring at him, waiting for his next move. What should he do?

Before he can decide, Iroh pulls him into a crushing hug. Zuko closes his eyes. His uncle smells the same as he remembered: the tang of green tea, the fire lily soap he preferred, and a hint of acrid smoke. His breathing is hard to control; he can feel a sob trying to break free and he works hard to suppress it.

Iroh pulls away to take another look at Zuko, face beaming with happiness. Zuko feels supremely awkward. When he had last seen his uncle, Zuko was only a few inches taller than him; now he towers above him by at least a foot. He feels self-conscious about his choice of war paint and his hair cut. For the past two years, he has imitated Sokka’s wolf-tail to try to fit in.

One of the elders seems to realize a little help is needed.

“You said you had an important message,” he prompts.

“Yes, yes,” Iroh says brightly, still admiring his nephew. “We have brought tea. Come, let us drink together.”

Zuko leads the crew back to the village. The women and children peer nervously out from their huts. Zuko motions his uncle into the large community yurt, using his bending to light a flame for the tea. The elders sit formally, waiting for Iroh to begin.

“I must apologize,” Iroh says in a friendly tone. “It has been many years since I have seen my nephew. You will forgive an old man for his sentimentality. It is my greatest joy to see you again, Prince Zuko.”

“It’s just Zuko now,” Zuko mumbles, embarrassed.

Iroh nods, his smile fading.

“Yes, I suppose it is. Your father had you declared dead after you disappeared. We tried to look for you — I had hope that the missing lifeboat meant that you were still alive — but we were given orders to return to the Fire Nation at once. I had hoped you would find a way to survive, but alone in the elements…”

“Chief Hakoda and his men saved me,” Zuko explains. “They brought me here.”

“I owe him and all of you—“ Iroh says, indicating the villagers — “a great debt. My nephew is very precious to me.”

Zuko is glad his war paint hides his flushed face.

“Zuko has been a blessing to our people,” Kanna says. “He has become a skilled hunter. Our larders are full thanks to him, and he has helped our children survive in the cold. We have been fortunate to have such a kind and brave warrior with us.”

Zuko feels like he might die of embarrassment at the look on his uncle’s face. All the elders are nodding with Kanna in agreement, and Zuko has to work very hard not to fidget. 

Was that really what they thought of him? He knew people didn’t hate him anymore, but a blessing? Brave and kind? His heart races. Those were the types of things that Katara had said made a good husband. Maybe…

“I am so proud of you, nephew,” Iroh says thickly, “for following your destiny.”

Zuko snaps out of his reverie.

“Uncle, you said people were in danger. What’s going on?”

Iroh nods, his face growing serious. He takes a deep breath.

“There are rumors that the Avatar has returned. A great beacon was spotted, most believing from the Southern Water Tribe. It was lucky we were close by so we could bring you warning before others came looking for him.”

“What others?”

“Only one that you must worry about. Your sister, Azula.”

Zuko’s blood runs cold.

“Why would Azula be looking for the Avatar? If father had me declared dead, she’s his sole heir now. Shouldn’t she be… I don’t know, bossing people around and going to war meetings?”

Iroh’s eyes grow sad.

“I am afraid that Firelord Ozai’s cruelty has not dimmed in your absence, Zuko. He is still paranoid, and he proclaims that all of his failures are the fault of others. You paid the price for this once,” Iroh says, nodding at him sadly. “But with you gone, he went back to tormenting his generals. It was not enough.”

Zuko swallows. It feels hard to breathe.

“Did he… did he hurt Azula?”

“Not physically, no. But he has poisoned her mind, driven her mad with his manipulation. She has embarked on the same quest you did — to capture the Avatar — believing it will finally bring her your father’s respect. It is a fool’s errand, of course, and I regret that I could not stop her. I should have tried harder to reach her, but after losing you… It was my mistake to not step in when I could, and now she has set her sights on the Southern Water Tribe.”

The elders seemed worried by this news, but not panicked. This is only because they don’t know what Azula is capable of, but Zuko is well aware of the danger. Azula would show no mercy to these people; she would raze the village to the ground if she thought the tribe was in her way.

“Uncle, if Azula comes here…”

“She would wreak havoc,” Iroh says, anticipating Zuko’s train of thought. 

“What can we do?”

Iroh’s brow furrows in concentration.

“There have been rumors that the Avatar has left the Southern Water Tribe. Is this true?”

Zuko hesitates. He loves his uncle, but it is hard to trust him so immediately. It has been almost four years of absence; who was to say what his uncle’s intentions were now?

Iroh smiles kindly, seemingly aware he has put his nephew in an awkward spot.

“Wherever the Avatar is, we mean him no harm. In fact, we intend to help him restore balance to the world.”

“‘ _We_ ’?”

Iroh nods, gesturing at his crew.

“Would anyone be interested in a game of pai sho?”

Zuko should not be surprised by this sudden shift in conversation. Even after all these years, his uncle has the strangest habits.

The water tribe elders, however, seem eager to play. Iroh opens with the White Lotus gambit and he and the elders exchange some odd pleasantries. Zuko isn’t really listening; several children, including Amaqjuaq, have snuck into the hut and are trying to climb into Zuko’s lap to warm up. By the time Zuko manages to allocate a limb for each child to cling onto, all of the elders, Iroh, and the ship’s crew, are staring at him.

“We can trust your uncle,” Kanna says. “He and his men will protect the Avatar.”

Zuko frowns, not quite sure how this happened, but he decides if the elders of the tribe have signed off on it, then he could proceed. If Azula really was coming, they were going to need all the help they could get.

“Aang — I mean, the Avatar — is on his way to the North Pole to master waterbending. He’s with friends, so he should be safe… But if Azula knows where he’s going, she could go after him. Katara and Sokka — my friends — they’re really brave, but Katara isn’t exactly a trained waterbender yet. Sokka isn’t a bender at all. He’s a great fighter, but Azula will his lack of bending against him. We’ve got to make sure Azula doesn’t go after them _or_ come to the South Pole.”

The gravity of Zuko’s statement is undercut by Amaqjuaq happily singing “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” in Zuko’s lap. Iroh’s eyes sparkle with amusement.

The elders mull over the options. 

“We could wall up our defenses.”

“If our enemies are close, there would not be enough time.”

“We can move the village further inland… but if they arrive before winter, this will not be enough of an obstacle for them.”

“We could send word to Chief Hakoda.”

“Even with the best winds, they would not be carried back in time.”

“There are not enough canoes to take us all away from here. And even if we could run, where would we go?”

“We could at least send the children away.”

“Perhaps I might have a solution?” Iroh interjects politely.

The elders nod for him to proceed. They seem to be greatly enjoying the tea Iroh has provided — Zuko finally sees why his uncle always insisted on carrying an extra crate on the ship.

“I am afraid,” Iroh begins, “that there is no ideal solution. My niece is relentless, and she will pursue whatever means she believes necessary to find the Avatar. She can, however, be distracted.”

Iroh is giving Zuko a look that he can’t quite understand. He looks sad, but Zuko doesn’t know why.

“Although Azula is the heir to the throne, there are still whispers about you, Prince Zuko. People believe you are still alive and will come to take what is rightfully yours.”

“ _What_?” Zuko says, flabbergasted. “But it’s been four years! And I was exiled… I lost my honor.”

“Some know the true story of your exile,” Iroh explains. “Your father tried to suppress it, but my brother only silenced his generals — he forgot that even servants have eyes and ears. The people know that you wanted to save Fire Nation lives, and that you were punished for it.”

Zuko looks away, trying to master his emotions. Amaqjuaq looks up at him, sensing the change of mood. Zuko ruffles his hair and tries to put on a smile to distract him. It works, and Amaqjuaq goes back to playing with a toy moose-elk carved from an antler. When Zuko looks up, his uncle’s eyes are sad again.

“If Azula knew you were still alive,” Iroh continues heavily, “she would see you as a threat. I believe she would attempt to capture _you_ instead of the Avatar.”

“But that doesn’t help us,” Zuko protests. “Because she would still come to the South Pole and…”

Zuko trails off, finally recognizing the sadness in his uncle’s eyes.

“I need to leave,” he says, his heart dropping.

Iroh nods. The elders murmur among themselves, looking alarmed.

“Uncle,” Zuko starts. “If I left the South Pole, there would be no one here who could still hunt. People would starve.”

As he says this, Zuko thinks about the alternative: Azula sailing in and killing everyone anyway. Which was a better death? Zuko can feel little Amaqjuaq’s hands tapping on his knees as he continues to play. Zuko feels sick at the thought of any harm befalling these people.

 _His_ people.

The elders seem to have regrouped in Zuko’s panic. Kanna speaks again.

“Zuko, our tribe is healthy and strong thanks to you. Our larders are more full than they have been in a decade — you and Sokka saw to that. We will survive this winter without you, and our warriors will return. We will make it through this difficult time. It is a terrible sacrifice we ask you to make: your safety for ours. But you are as much of a warrior as any of our men. We ask that you protect us, and for Tui and La to protect you.”

Zuko’s insides are churning: fear and love and anger and resolution. He has a hard time accepting Kanna’s kind words — he still can scarcely believe that anyone has anything nice to say about him — but he recognizes the truth in her statement. It is his duty to protect this village. He had promised Katara and Sokka that he would, but it is more than that.

This is his destiny.

Zuko straightens to face the elders. Normally he would bow to them, but Amaqjuaq’s tiny head is in the way, so he settles for a nod.

“I will protect the tribe,” he says solemnly. “I will leave at once to draw away the danger. I will not fail you.”

The elders nod in acceptance, but there is a wail of protest. Some of the children are paying more attention than any of the adults realized, and are quite unhappy at hearing the word ‘leave.’

“No! Zuko stay!”

Soon all the children are wailing despondently. They tug on Zuko’s arms and legs, and several elders get up to try to console the children but it’s no use. 

Zuko lights a small flame in his palm, sitting quietly. The children, distracted, come around to stare at the fire. Even after all this time, Zuko is still a bit awkward with children — he’s fine with holding them and carrying them around, but their emotions are still mysterious to him — but he has learned that they are all fascinated by his fire. They are much more receptive to suggestions if they are made over a shared flame. At least, that was how he helped convince Amaqjuaq and his fellow toddlers that going to sleep before the feast ended was very _cool_ and _grown-up_.

“Listen,” he says to the wide-eyed children. “I have to go away for a little while. I need you to be good while I’m gone, okay?”

The children nod. Amaqjuaq’s lower lip trembles a bit. Zuko wants so badly to promise that he will return soon, that everything will be all right. But he could not promise either, and it seemed cruel to give them false hope. They were children, but they were not stupid. He wanted to treat them accordingly.

“I have to get ready,” Zuko continues, “but before I go, I promise one last polar-dog pile, okay?”

The children look heartened by this. Jumping on top of Sokka and Zuko had been their favorite game, and only allowed on special occasions. It seems to take the sting out of Zuko’s parting, and most of the children run off to tell their mothers the exciting news.

Zuko walks back to Chief Hakoda’s family yurt for the last time. His feet feel like lead in his boots. He tries to memorize everything; he desperately wants to take something to remember this place, but in the Southern Water Tribe, nothing can be spared. Katara and Sokka had left behind most of their possessions — Sokka’s spears, Katara’s needles, their shared fish hooks — and Zuko could not justify bringing any of these things with him. If he were to be captured by Azula, he needed to ensure that no one could trace his steps back here. He would have to shave off his wolf-tail, to shed his furs and boots. He had to erase the Southern Water Tribe from his being. The idea is far more painful than he would have ever imagined.

He keeps his hair and furs intact for the moment so that he can say goodbye. The whole village gathers in the harbor to see off the ship. Zuko bows in turn to each of the elders. Kanna ruffles his hair like she had when he was younger.

“You have made our tribe proud, my son,” she says gently. “May Tui and La guide and protect your journey.”

“Katara and Sokka…” Zuko says. “You’ll tell them… tell them why I left?”

“Yes. They will understand.”

“If…” Zuko whispers. “If I don’t come back…”

“You will,” Kanna says, her voice sure and steady. “And you will see my granddaughter and grandson again. Of that I am certain.”

Zuko is less sure, but he feels slightly comforted nevertheless. He breaks protocol to give her a hug.

“Thank you, Gran-Gran,” he whispers.

“You are a good boy, Zuko,” she says, patting his cheek. “Be good to your uncle.”

Zuko goes to say goodbye to the women, and is surprised to find that most want to give him a hug as well. Kallik in particular holds him tightly.

“What you have done for our tribe can never be repaid,” she says, voice thick with emotion. “You have seen eight of our children into this world. We can only hope that our sons and daughters are as honorable as you.”

The word makes Zuko’s heart pound. For years, he has told himself that the Southern Water Tribe definition of honor was different than the Fire Nation, that being honorable here was somehow lesser or easier. But he knows how much of a struggle it is to survive in a place like this. To do the right thing, the honorable thing, was no easy feat. He hugs Kallik back, hoping his face does not betray how affected he is by her words.

Finally, Zuko turns to the crowd of children. They alone seem excited about his departure, mostly because of the promised polar-dog pile. Zuko lies down in the snow, arms outstretched. He can see Iroh and his men looking perplexed.

“Okay, go!”

The children dash to him, sliding and toppling onto him. Zuko receives several accidental and uncomfortable jabs, but the children are hooting with so much glee that he isn’t bothered by it. Amaqjuaq’s giggling face is buried against Zuko’s shoulder, the small piece of real estate he could access.

The children shout joyfully for a few minutes before losing interest, peeling off of him. Zuko stands and dusts himself off. With a final bow to the elders, he turns to board the ship.

He watches the village shrink from view, a few villagers still out on the ice, watching him. He waves a few times, but each time his heart drops further and further.

For the second time in his life, Zuko leaves his home, fearing he might never return again.

—

Zuko is relieved that the ship’s layout is quite different from the one he sailed during his exile. His uncle and the crew try to get him to take the captain’s quarters, but Zuko refuses. He repurposes a small supply closet for himself. He might not need grandeur, but after four years with the Southern Water Tribe, he does want a bit of privacy.

The first night aboard, Zuko distracts himself from his melancholy mood by asking his uncle questions.

“After I was presumed dead, where did you go?”

Iroh sighs. He pours both of them a cup of strong tea, and Zuko knows that this will not be an easy story for his uncle if they must fortify themselves this way. He takes a sip. As much as he had groused over his uncle’s obsession with tea, he must admit that the taste is unparalleled. He hadn’t even realized he missed it so much.

“As I told you in the village, Firelord Ozai recalled us to Caldera City. The crew was disbanded and dispersed — a mistake on Ozai’s part, as I believe many of the crew are responsible for the rumors spreading about you.”

“Why would they want people to think I was alive?”

“The crew may have treated you as a prince, but many of them saw you as a child. You were thirteen when you came on board, and they felt your pain — they had their own cruel fathers, or difficult teenage years. They did not want to believe you had died so young.”

“But I was such a…” Zuko doesn’t want to describe himself as a brat, but he does remember shouting a lot, especially at his uncle. He flushes with shame.

“Like I have said,” Iroh continues gently, “they saw you as a child. Sometimes children are difficult, but they deserve compassion, not cruelty.”

Iroh takes another sip of tea and sighs.

“I have not maintained contact with the crew. It would draw attention to them, and I prefer that they and their families remain undisturbed.”

“What about you, though?” Zuko asks. “Father… I mean, Ozai… if he’s still as paranoid as you say he is, didn’t he see you as a threat?”

“I believe he did. The man who tried to kill you — you remember, the one we were forced to take on board suddenly before we came to the South Pole — he was not subtle in his approach to dispose of me.”

“He tried to kill you?”

“I believe he it was his intention, but he was lost overboard in a storm. If he was lucky, he would have washed up near the colonies, but there are known to be lion-sharks in those waters.”

Zuko’s blood runs cold.

“Uncle, did you…”

“No, but not because I did not want to. The man was an inept sailor and did not follow orders. But it was not lost on me that he may have died much in the same way he had tried to kill you. I did not mourn his loss, I must say.”

“What happened once you got back to Caldera City? Did you stay?”

Iroh stares distantly, his eyes sad. 

“Once I arrived, I was already deep in mourning. To have lost my son, and then to have lost you, Zuko, who I thought of as my own —” Zuko’s heart flips at this — “I was a shell of myself. Losing Lu Ten had changed me, but I feared that losing you would break me.”

Everything hits Zuko at once, a pain so great he cannot control it: losing his mother and his home, Katara and Sokka’s departure, his uncle’s suffering over him. Zuko tries to choke down a sob, but it overwhelms him. He cries like he has not in years, not since he was first exiled. He longs for _home_ , but he doesn’t know what that is anymore. His mother’s arms? His friends? Here, with his uncle, trying to protect the Southern Water Tribe?

When he finally collects himself, he sees that Iroh has poured him a second, separate cup of tea.

“What’s this?” he rasps.

“Ginger,” his uncle explains. “I find it eases both stomach and heartaches.”

“Sorry,” Zuko mumbles, embarrassed by his outburst.

“You have nothing to apologize for, nephew,” Iroh says kindly. “I understand.”

Although Zuko has told his uncle almost nothing of his time with the Southern Water Tribe, he knows his uncle _does_ understand. Not only does he understand, but he does not shrink away from it. His uncle smiles at him, ready to love him and help him. 

Zuko feels rather like crying again, but he drinks his tea, inhaling its familiar scent.

“How did you come to the Southern Water Tribe?” Zuko asks finally. “Who are the people with you on this ship?”

“After my arrival in Caldera City, it was clear to my brother I was no real threat. I was a broken man, or so it appeared. But there was some spark in me yet. I knew that people had suffered what I had suffered — losing their loved ones to war or to hate — and would continue to suffer so long as the world was imbalanced. I have sought to restore it.”

“Like the Avatar?” Zuko asks, confused.

Iroh pulls a pai sho tile from his sleeve, a wry smile on his face.

“Tell me, Zuko. What do you know of the White Lotus?”

“Uncle, if this is some kind of pai sho strategy session…”

“No, no,” Iroh says happily. “Although we do use pai sho as a means of sending messages.”

“‘We'?”

Iroh pours a cup of tea and explains. Zuko’s head spins.

All this time, Iroh had been part of a secret society trying to restore balance to the world. Even when he had been helping Zuko seek out the Avatar, Iroh had had his own agenda: to protect the Avatar, if he was still alive, and help him restore balance. There were members of this society around the world, and his uncle was their leader.

“Why are you telling me this?” Zuko asks finally. “Isn’t it supposed to be a secret?”

“Yes,” Iroh says, nodding. “I had rather hoped you would join us.”

“Me?”

“You are the only one of us who has actually met the Avatar. And you are protecting him, are you not?”

“I’m protecting my friends,” Zuko corrects. “I mean, I guess Aang could be my friend. He’s pretty nice. But I don’t know him that well.”

“It seems to me,” Iroh continues warmly, “that your ideals match those of the Avatar, do they not?”

Zuko thinks about this. The Avatar was supposed to bring balance. Balance would mean an end to the war, peace and prosperity for the Southern Water Tribe at last. Maybe it would mean the fall of Ozai, and Zuko could return home. What if he could have the best of both worlds — could one person have two homes?

Zuko shakes his head.

“I’m doing it for selfish reasons,” he says heavily. “It’s not honorable or noble. It’s for me.”

“They are not mutually exclusive, nephew,” Iroh says. “Do you not think I want peace for myself? To end the suffering of others would also bring me a reward. That does not necessarily make it selfish to help others.”

Zuko contemplates this.

“What do the members of the White Lotus need to do?”

“We are committed to protecting the Avatar now that he has returned. We send word of where he may be and who might serve to protect him there. We —“

“Yeah, yeah,” Zuko says, waving a hand impatiently. “That’s what we’re already doing. But what else?”

“What do you mean, nephew?”

“Do I have to take an oath? Is there stuff that’s forbidden? Do I have to learn how to play pai sho?”

His uncle laughs.

“Zuko, I would be very honored for you to join our ranks. There is nothing you must do other than to vow to protect balance in the world, though I suppose pai sho is always a useful skill.”

As he readies himself for sleep, he thinks back to his younger self, so sure that capturing the Avatar was his destiny. Yet despite his certainty, he had felt only unrest inside of him. He could never be satisfied, never placated until his destiny was achieved. Now, he had joined a society sworn to protect the Avatar. He does not feel at peace with this decision per se — he is still anxious at the dangers that lie ahead — but strangely, he feels a sense of comfort within him. This is the kind of man he wants to be: one who protects, not attacks.

He can see a sliver of the moon out of the small window in his chamber. He asks Tui and La to guide him. They have steered him well so far.

—

As much as Zuko misses his life in the South Pole, there are advantages to his new reality. The first is that he can firebend with his uncle again, and he can finally work to achieve mastery. There were not many steps left to unlock, but without a teacher he had not know what to do next. Iroh and Zuko spend their mornings in training, and Zuko is proud to show his uncle the strength of his fire. After their first session, Iroh turns to Zuko, impressed.

“Nephew, where did you learn this?”

“Learn what?” Zuko asks, confused. “You taught me all this.”

“No,” Iroh shakes his head. “I have never seen this before.” 

He mimics Zuko’s last three movements, but his fire is not as steady as Zuko’s.

“Oh! I made those up to help Katara with her waterbending. I thought the more fluid motions would work well for her.”

Iroh looks delighted.

“I would be quite eager to learn from you, nephew, if you would be willing to teach me.”

“It’s nothing,” Zuko mumbles, embarrassed. “You’re the real master.”

“Ah, but even a master can still learn. And you have shown great creativity, Zuko. I must admit, firebending has become quite uniform since Firelord Sozin’s rise to power. Many forget there are other ways.”

Zuko teaches his uncle his newfound skills, and Iroh, in turn, helps him with the final steps towards mastery. There are even some less common moves Iroh instructs him in, like redirecting lightning.

“You’re sure this will work?” Zuko asks.

“No,” Iroh says. “I have never used it. But there are scrolls that indicate that such a thing is possible.”

Zuko frowns, but practices the move anyway. There are plenty of stories about his sister’s ability to bend lightning. Zuko knows it’s best to be prepared. He is frustrated by his own inability to bend lightning, but feels slightly better that he has some unusual moves of his own to surprise her.

At night, Zuko and Iroh drink tea and swap stories. There is much for Zuko to learn; the lore of the White Lotus Society is extensive, and there are dozens of important Avatars to learn about. Zuko understands a bit better why Aang ran away to go have fun — all of these lessons are quite sobering. 

It takes a while, but Zuko slowly recounts some of his tales from the Southern Water Tribe. He is not a gifted storyteller — Sokka had once called him ‘pitiful’ — but he gets the point across at least. He tells his uncle about Katara and Sokka, hunting and canoeing excursions, the children and the warriors. Sometimes he gets carried away by a memory, especially happy ones with Katara and Sokka. He is retelling one such story of Katara’s first successful bending practice when he looks up to see his uncle smiling at him tearfully.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asks, feeling awkward.

“No, nephew,” Iroh says warmly. “I am happy you have found your place in the world.”

“Oh,” Zuko says, flushing. “I don’t know. It’s not like I didn’t miss the Fire Nation.”

“And what did you miss?”

“Papaya.”

Iroh bursts out laughing. Zuko rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. He had just blurted the first thing that came to his mind.

“Well, I am sure we can find you papaya soon,” Iroh says, smiling.

Zuko’s stomach clenches. The next phase of their plan will take place soon, and he’s not sure he’s ready for it.

On the outside, he looks the part. He has trimmed off his wolf tail and has started wearing Fire Nation-style tunics. In a few day’s time, they will make landfall in the Fire Nation colonies. Zuko and Iroh will endeavor to make as big of an impression as possible, loudly proclaiming Prince Zuko’s intention to reclaim the throne. From there, they will wait for Azula to give chase, and then they will slowly lead her around the Earth Kingdom, far from either water tribe. 

Zuko feels some trepidation about this plan. The details seem fine — in fact, he’s sure that even Sokka would approve of their strategy — but it is the personal aspect Zuko worries about. It has been a long time since he has been _Prince_ Zuko. He had thought it would be easy to return to, but he struggles with it. For so long, he has wanted to erase this painful part of himself, but now he must embrace it.

Iroh is a useful sounding board, and seems quite touched that Zuko asks for his advice. Zuko tries not to be embarrassed by this; he is not used to affection or attention from his own family.

The plan, however, goes well. Perhaps a little _too_ well, in fact. It seems that Azula was prepared for the possibility that the rumors about Zuko were true, and she had put up a large prize for anyone who could capture Zuko. He supposes he should be grateful that Azula had specified that he needed to be taken alive, but it does make travel a bit difficult. Iroh disbands the ship’s crew to protect them — they each set off for their own secretive White Lotus-related missions — but Iroh and Zuko stick together. They are able to hop between villages and cities, and the two of them are strong enough firebenders to fight off any overzealous mercenaries. Fortunately, there seems to be a large faction of the Fire Nation that supports Zuko’s supposed bid for the throne. Iroh and Zuko are offered barns to sleep and hide in as they travel. Zuko’s main worry is that he hasn’t provided enough of a distraction for Azula, and that she will just send others to do her bidding. He needs to amp up his methods.

Azula will assume that so long as Zuko is in the Fire Nation, he is on her turf and she will have the upper hand. If Zuko takes his cause to the Earth Kingdom, however, he will pose a true threat. After a hundred years, the Fire Nation has still not managed to wrestle the Earth Kingdom into submission. If Zuko stirs up sentiment with the local people that he will overtake his sister and end the war, the tide could turn. Iroh is in agreement, and he and Zuko buy safe passage across the sea. They make as much of a ruckus as possible, and it pays off. Not one week after their arrival in the Earth Kingdom, Iroh receives a coded message that Azula’s fleet is sailing away from the North Pole.

Although this was the plan, Zuko does feel panic at this news. It was easy enough to dodge two-bit thugs trying to capture them, but Azula had a small army at her disposal, and she was cleverer than anyone Zuko had ever met. They would have to tread carefully.

They are in luck that Azula’s fleet is slow. The ships themselves are top-of-the-line, but large. Azula’s ship is reported to break away from the rest, presumably so she can capture Zuko herself. His sister’s impatience means that, at the very least, Zuko and Iroh will not be outnumbered a thousand to one when she finally arrives.

Iroh and Zuko hop their way across the Earth Kingdom, always one step ahead of Azula. They stay close to the shore — no need for Azula to make landfall and burn her way through the villages — but they will eventually run out of places to hide. Iroh and Zuko discuss strategies endlessly; it reminds Zuko of his many, many tactical sessions with Sokka.

As Azula draws near, Iroh and Zuko make their way to Kyoshi Island, smuggled in on a small fishing vessel. They part ways once they reach the shore — Iroh needs to send a message to some White Lotus members, while Zuko goes to find a place to hide out for the evening. He had assumed the fisherman transporting them had not noticed their presence, but it turns out he was mistaken. 

“There he is!”

The wizened old man stands in the middle of the street, pointing at Zuko accusingly. He is flanked by a half-dozen Kyoshi warriors. They look severe in their heavy makeup and traditional robes. Zuko raises his hands; he has heard of these warriors and he knows they are not to be trifled with.

“I can explain,” he says slowly.

Something painful collides with the back of his head. He realizes too late that the warriors in front of him had been a distraction; another had snuck up soundlessly behind him to strike him down. He hits the ground with a thump, trying to stay conscious. Something hard strikes him again and the world goes black.

—

Zuko wakes, his head throbbing. He has no idea how much time has passed or where he is. He is surrounded by a circle of warriors talking amongst themselves, but he cannot see any other prisoners. He hopes his uncle has avoided capture. Zuko struggles to sit upright, but finds that his hands and feet are tied.

His movements draw the attention of one of the Kyoshi warriors standing guard over him. She draws a sword, holding it just under Zuko’s chin. He freezes.

“I thought you guys used fans,” he says slowly.

“We make exceptions for Fire Nation scum.”

The speaker is not the woman holding a sword to his throat, but another guard, although with their heavy makeup they are almost indistinguishable. This woman is clearly the leader. Zuko can tell by the way she carries herself and the way the several other warriors nearby keep their eyes trained on her. He will have to use as much tact as possible here, a tall order given how he usually has a tendency to put his foot in his mouth.

“My name is…”

“We know who you are, Prince Zuko,” the woman says coldly.

“Um, okay. And you are…?”

“I’ll ask the questions. Why are you here?”

“Er, I heard Kyoshi was nice this time of year?”

The woman interrogating him nods at the other guard, who withdraws her sword. Zuko breathes a sigh of relief for a moment before he is struck painfully across the face.

“Ow! What was that for?”

The woman twirls her fan idly in her hands. She had struck so fast, Zuko had barely seen it move.

“It is best that you don’t lie to me, Prince Zuko. It is my duty to protect the people of this island. I will not tolerate interlopers who bring danger to our shores.”

Zuko’s stomach falls. This sounds rather like his own goal of protecting the Southern Water Tribe. He had not considered that he was just as dangerous as Azula to these people. Guilt bubbles inside him.

“It was not my intention to cause trouble,” Zuko answers honestly. “I’m just trying to get away from my sister.”

The woman seems to find him truthful, because he does not get hit again. Zuko is thankful; those fans were surprisingly hard.

“If you could just let me go,” Zuko ventures, “I’ll leave. There won’t be any danger to your people.”

“There is a reward for him,” another woman says from the back of the room. “We could hand him over to his sister and take the reward.”

“That would necessitate more outsiders coming onto our island,” the leader says. “I have heard of Princess Azula. She would not hesitate to attack us even once she has what she wants.”

“Then what should we do with him?”

The leader mulls this over.

“We must discuss this in private. Ling, Jingfei, you will take first watch over the prisoner tonight. In the morning we will make our decision.”

Zuko sleeps poorly, tortured by his aching head and his concern for his uncle. As the sun rises, the guards lead him outside to relieve himself. They release the manacles around his feet, but his hands remain bound.

“Our warriors will decide your fate shortly,” one of his guards says. “You have to go back to your cell in the meantime.” 

Zuko turns to head back, but his eyes are drawn to the rows of hanging laundry nearby. Most of the clothing appears to be training tunics or parts of the Kyoshi warrior ensemble, but there is a faded blue shirt that sparks Zuko’s memory.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

Zuko anticipates the fan and ducks away, rolling towards the ground. It is hard to tell under the heavy face paint, but he recognizes just how young his guards are. They are well-trained, and react quickly, but there is fear in their expression.

By the time Zuko has managed to make his way to the line of drying laundry — he has to frequently jump backwards to avoid getting hit — the rest of the Kyoshi warriors have come spilling out from a nearby building. Unlike the guards, they do not wear makeup; Zuko guesses that discussing their prisoner’s fate took precedence over aesthetics. 

Despite her lack of makeup, Zuko recognizes the leader by her demeanor. She’s quite striking, even if she is glaring at Zuko with the intensity of a thousand suns. Zuko, however, makes his final move. He lifts up his chained hands and tugs the shirt off the line, turning it over to inspect the seams.

 _Boomerangs_.

The leader looks ready to shout, but Zuko cuts her off.

“Sokka was here?”

The leader freezes, eyes going wide. The rest of the warriors hesitate, looking to her for guidance.

“You… you know Sokka?”

“Yeah,” Zuko says, turning the shirt over. It is much more faded than he remembers. “When was he here?”

“A few months ago,” the leader says slowly. Realization dawns on her face. “Wait, you’re _that_ Zuko? The one Sokka and Katara said was their friend back in the South Pole?”

The other Kyoshi warriors turn to look at each other. It seems they have heard of him, too.

“Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

“But…” the woman splutters. “You’re the Fire Nation prince!”

“About that,” Zuko says awkwardly. “I really need to get out of here before my sister shows up. She’s supposed to be chasing me instead of the Avatar, but if she actually does catch me…”

“Then she’ll go after Aang,” the woman finishes, nodding. “Right. Well, then, let’s start over. My name is Suki, and these are the Kyoshi warriors.”

“We’ve met,” he says dully.

Suki ignores this and pulls out a set of keys. She marches over to Zuko, unlocking his chains. He rubs his sore wrists, still clinging to the shirt.

“Hang on. If Sokka hasn’t been here for months, why is his shirt out on the line? Has someone been wearing it?”

To his great surprise, Suki blushes.

 _Ah_. It looks like someone _was_ interested in Sokka despite his smelly feet. Zuko, embarrassed to have brought it up, hastily changes the subject.

“I need to find my uncle.”

“We’ve got eyes on him,” Suki says, looking relieved to avoid explaining her personal life. “And your sister’s ship is out on the horizon, too. There’s no way a boat that size is making past the giant koi.”

Zuko’s stomach lurches. 

“But my uncle and I made it here. Azula is smart — she could find a way to sneak in, too. She…”

Zuko’s voice dies away. There is a hint of smoke in the air and the sound of voices rising in the distance.

Suki pales.

“Warriors,” she commands, whirling around. “To your stations at once.”

They don’t need telling twice. The group scatters in all directions, hastily grabbing at weapons and armor along the way. Zuko, unsure of where to go, follows Suki. He picks his manacles back up and stuffs them in his pocket. If Azula is behind this, they could come in handy. 

“You need to get out of here,” Suki says as she smears on facepaint. Zuko wants to protest that this is not the time for pageantry, but he understands the idea. The warriors of the Southern Water Tribe were the same: the paint helped hide their fear and project their power. If they were going to face Azula, they were going to need all the intimidation they could get.

“I can help you fight her,” Zuko says.

“No,” Suki responds. “We can handle ourselves.”

“You don’t know her. Azula is fast, she’s smart, she’s —”

“She’s after _you_ ,” Suki finishes. “And as long as you’re here, our people are in danger. Draw her away from the island. I’ll give you a boat for safe passage. But you have to go now.”

“My uncle…”

“Let’s go,” Suki says, grabbing his wrist.

The village is in chaos. Several houses are aflame, and the villagers seem torn on whether to put out the fire or to run. Zuko spots Fire Nation soldiers randomly setting houses alight, seemingly for the fun of it. He goes to stop them, but another troupe spots him, and he is outnumbered. He takes down two of them, and turns to fight the other two only to find them both crumpled in a heap. Suki towers over them, her expression furious.

“Come on,” she says, urging Zuko down the street. “We’ve got to get you to the harbor.”

“Not without my uncle,” he protests.

“We don’t have time for —“

Zuko pulls her down in time for a fireball to miss her head. He blasts one back, knocking the offending soldier to the ground.

“Oh, thanks,” Suki says, sounding surprised.

“Don’t mention it.”

A familiar voice rings out and Zuko finds himself running towards it without thinking. Suki scrambles to keep up.

In the middle of the town square, Azula is kicking out a blast of blazing blue fire at her opponent. The man dodges and rolls, quickly righting himself.

“Uncle!”

Iroh turns to spot him, but so does Azula. Her eyes narrow.

“Well, well, well. Hello, Zuzu.”

“Azula, stop this,” Zuko says, slowly circling her. “This town has nothing to do with us. Call off your men.”

“I only brought a few,” she says in a bored tone. “Oh, look. It seems like your Kyoshi warrior friends rounded them up for me.”

Indeed, the soldiers are being marched into the square, stumbling in handcuffs. There are scarcely a dozen, most looking the worse for wear.

“Looks like it’s up to me, as usual,” Azula continues in a dangerous tone. “So, Zuzu, are you going to come quietly or do I have to burn this village down?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Suki interrupts. “You’re going to answer for what you and your men have done here.”

“That’s cute,” Azula snorts. “Thinking you have the upper hand. But you should know something about me — I always have another trick up my sleeve.”

A flame sparks in her palm and Zuko has just enough time to throw himself and Suki to the ground. The Kyoshi warriors spring into action, but there is a shout of alarm. Azula has made a ring of fire around herself, Suki, Zuko, and Iroh, and none of the warriors can penetrate it.

“Get water!” Suki orders over the roar of the flames. She sinks into an attack position, fans poised.

“Hah!” Azula laughs. “Don’t you know that fanning the flames just makes them grow hotter?”

She blasts fire again, but Suki nimbly springs away. Iroh and Zuko shoot twin fireballs at Azula and she has to duck. Suki manages to strike Azula in the back of the head before leaping away to dodge a fire whip. Azula looks furious.

“Zuko!” Suki shouts. “Go!”

Zuko hesitates for a moment, but he can see that Azula has turned her attention on him. He has to lead her away from this place. He had never meant to cause harm to the people of Kyoshi. 

The Kyoshi warriors have managed to douse some of Azula’s fire, and Zuko and Iroh dart through the opening, Azula hot on their heels. She tries some fancy tricks, leaping between rooftops and tossing fire from the high ground, but Zuko and Iroh have some tricks on their own. They stick together despite Azula’s attempts to pick them off individually. As her frustration mounts, she grows more reckless. It’s unnerving; Zuko is used to seeing Azula in perfect control. Being reckless was always his problem.

Iroh and Zuko hold their position on the edge of town. Zuko spies the skiff Suki had mentioned, painted green with little yellow fans. To get to it, they will have to dash out in the open to the docks. Azula gracefully jumps from the rooftops and rolls to a stop a few meters in front of them. They face off, all three of them holding hands lit with fire.

“You can’t run forever, Zuzu,” Azula taunts.

Zuko doesn’t answer. He knows it will annoy her more, and, if it were him in her shoes, his annoyance would cause him to make mistakes.

“You know I’ll win eventually,” Azula continues. “I’m the only one of us fit to be Firelord. You’re _nothing_.”

Zuko is surprised to find this insult doesn’t hurt. Part of him wants to explore why, but given that Azula’s hands are crackling with lightning, this doesn’t seem like the optimal time. Still, she seems a bit surprised that Zuko isn’t firing back at her, either with flames or with words.

“You think you can just come back all this time after abandoning your people —“ Azula starts, and this time, it _does_ sting to hear. “There might be a few fools who support you, but they don’t know what’s good for them. I mean, look at you!”

“I didn’t abandon anyone,” Zuko grits out. “I was exiled, remember?”

Azula looks gratified that he has finally taken the bait.

“All because you didn’t know when to keep your mouth shut,” she says smugly. “Kicked out of the country not an hour after you went to your first war meeting. That’s some sort of stupidity record, I’ll bet.”

“Shut up.”

Azula only grins wider.

“And then,” she continues happily, “you get lost searching for the Avatar! No one has seen you in four years, brother. I could hardly believe you weren’t dead. I would’ve thought you were too slow-witted to survive without uncle pulling the strings.”

Zuko sees red.

“You’re one to talk, Azula,” he spits. “As if Father isn’t pulling your strings.”

Azula’s expression sours. The lightning sparks again, but she doesn’t fire yet.

“And I wasn’t _lost_ ,” Zuko adds. “Father sent someone to kill me.”

For the first time, Azula looks surprised. She quickly schools her expression back under her control.

“I would have heard about that,” she says primly.

“I was fifteen,” Zuko explains. “You were barely thirteen. Do you really think Father tells you everything?”

“There’s no one Father trusts more than me,” she snarls.

Zuko laughs.

“Father doesn’t trust anybody!”

“He trusted me to find the Avatar!”

Zuko raises an eyebrow.

“He told me the same thing.”

“Well obviously he was lying to _you_. He _hates_ you.”

Zuko flinches. He has known for many years that this is the truth, but that doesn’t mean he likes to hear it. If he survives this encounter with Azula, this is what will be ringing in his ears for weeks.

“If you’re so set on capturing the Avatar,” Zuko says, changing the subject, “then why are you here?”

“The Avatar isn’t the only enemy of the Fire Nation, Zuzu.”

“The Avatar isn’t our enemy, Azula.”

“‘ _Our_ ’? How dare you call yourself a member of the Fire Nation! How dare you consider yourself worthy of the throne after you abandoned—“

“I didn’t abandon you!” Zuko shouts.

Silence falls. They stare at each other, wide-eyed and unmoving.

Was _that_ what this was about? He had never considered how Azula had felt after his exile; he had been too focused on his own pain. Honestly, he had assumed Azula had been fine — more than fine — once she was the only star of the show. 

“I didn’t abandon you,” Zuko repeats quietly. “I’m sorry you were left alone with Father. I didn’t think…”

“Stop being so _sentimental_ ,” Azula hisses. “I didn’t care you were gone. In fact, once people didn’t have you to coddle, they could see that _I_ was the powerful one. _I_ was the one who should be Ozai’s heir.”

Zuko can sense a monologue coming on. Azula had been somewhat prone to these when playing games as children. She would insist on a speech before she declared victory. Zuko had let her do it because it made her happy, and sometimes they were entertaining. She had a certain flair for fiery speeches about crushing one’s enemies.

Zuko tries not to move as Azula stares him down, droning on about how she alone was worthy to rule the Fire Nation. He can see Iroh out of the corner of his eye. Azula’s gaze is fixed solely on her brother; if Zuko could draw her close enough to him, Iroh could get to the skiff. Zuko would jump in after him and they could sail away.

Zuko takes a step back to the left. He slowly lifts his hands, forming a triangle with his fingers. Azula leaps towards him, her palms raised in a threat.

“What are you doing, Zuzu?” she says, annoyed. He tries not to smirk; she had never liked it when their mother had interrupted her speeches to announce that it was lunchtime.

Fortunately, Iroh seems to have figured out what Zuko was going for. The pattern of his step and the movement of his hands had not been a defensive firebending move like Azula seemed to think. This was a feint: the pai sho mountain tile may have not been one of his uncle’s favorite strategies, but he certainly recognized its uses. The mountain stands tall while the snake attacks. Iroh silently creeps out of Azula’s line of sight and towards the docks, unmooring the ship. Zuko keeps his eyes fixed on Azula. Looking away, even for a second, would give them away.

“You know there’s no escape,” Azula continues, unaware of the trap. 

“Leave these people alone, Azula,” Zuko warns. “They’re not a part of this.”

“Anyone who shelters an enemy of the state is an enemy,” she snaps. “These people don’t get an excuse just because they have some silly outfits on. I saw their leader defending you.”

“Azula…”

“I’m going to take you back to the Fire Nation,” Azula continues, a mad grin starting to appear. “You’re going to be punished.”

“Punished for what, exactly?”

“I’ve been to the places you’ve been,” Azula says coldly. “You’ve been sewing seeds of discontent.”

Zuko’s eyebrows rise so high, he feels like they’re going to fly off his face.

“Don’t play dumb, Zuzu,” Azula snarls. “Everywhere I went, there were traitorous fools defending you. They spoke ill of the Firelord and our family — well, the _good_ parts of our family, not _you_. You’ve been telling people they’d be better off without Father to lead them.”

“They would be,” Zuko agrees. “But I didn’t tell them that.”

Indeed, there _had_ been a lot of anti-Ozai sentiment in the parts of the Fire Nation where Zuko had traveled, but Zuko had not been the source of it. Rather, it seemed that the harsh restrictions imposed by Ozai — war rationing, forced conscription, increased taxes — had wreaked havoc over the years and fomented discontent. Most of the people who ‘supported’ Zuko did not really support _him_ , but instead saw him as the antithesis of his father. Ozai had banished Zuko for speaking against him, and the people disagreed with Ozai. Therefore, it was only logical that Zuko would be more likely to align with their own interests. Zuko had not dispelled this way of thinking — he _did_ want to stop Ozai, after all — and he and Iroh had relied on the kindness of the Fire Nation rebels who would let them sleep in their barns.

“Look,” Zuko says, sensing that Azula was about to lose it and light him on fire. “You’ve gotten out of Caldera City now. You know what it’s really like out here, not all that propaganda bullshit we were fed for years. People are suffering, Azula. People are _dying_ , and Father likes it that way. Do you?”

“Our enemies are dying,” Azula says, looking defiant. “They’re the ones who should suffer.”

“Why? Seriously, Azula, why? What have our supposed ‘enemies’ done other than try to live their lives in peace?”

“They must submit to the Fire Nation! Our nation is the beacon of light! All must follow us or fall in darkness!”

“Listen to yourself!” Zuko shouts. “Azula, you were always the smartest person I knew.”

Azula blinks, thrown by the compliment.

“You can’t really _believe_ all that stuff anymore,” he adds. “Father is trying to silence you. He tried to do it to me, too —“ Zuko gestures at his scar —“but you’re not like me, Azula. You’re right: I ran my mouth and got myself exiled. I should’ve been smarter. I should have known when to hold my cards and when to play them. _You_ know how to do that, Azula. So why are you letting Father play you?”

Azula lowers her hands slightly, looking stunned. Zuko seizes his chance.

“Sorry about this, Azula."

He uses one hand to fish out the manacles from his pocket, while using the other to jab Azula hard in the side. She stumbles and he pounces, grabbing a wrist behind her back as he wrestles her to the ground. She struggles, but he grabs her other arm and yanks it back, shackling it to her other wrist. As children, the only way Zuko could reliably beat Azula was with his bigger size, and she had always hated it.

Zuko leaps away from her, sprinting towards the skiff where Iroh has already unfurled the sail. Azula is screaming obscenities — Zuko is rather impressed; she certainly hadn’t learned those in Caldera City — but even with her arms tied, Zuko knows she is dangerous. He has to deflect more than one fireball she sends his way with her feet.

Zuko leaps into the ship and both he and Iroh blast twin jets of fire into the water, propelling them away from the shore. Zuko mutters a prayer to Tui and La to guide them safely.He figures it can’t hurt to ask the Ocean Spirit for a little help at a time like this. Iroh looks a bit surprised, but doesn’t pry. They have to focus on getting away first.

It’s not the most subtle escape, and Zuko watches as a few rag-tag Fire Nation soldiers who had escaped the clutches of the Kyoshi warriors assemble on the beach. By the time Azula is freed from her chains, the skiff catches a strong wind, and they speed through the harbor, unperturbed by the giant koi. They stop their fire blasts — Zuko is pretty sure giant fish don’t like fire — and he moves the rudder to steer them to safety.

He looks back at Kyoshi with a heavy heart. He had brought danger to these innocent people. Their homes had been burned, and people had undoubtedly been hurt. He feels sick at the thought.

“Uncle,” he rasps. “We can’t keep doing this. Azula will harm anyone in her way to get to me.”

“You are right, nephew,” Iroh says heavily. “I had hoped that we could distract her from the Avatar, but…”

They sit in silence for a long moment before Zuko jolts upright. 

“We can still distract her,” he says quickly. “If Azula knows where to look for me, she’ll hurt people to get to me. Same with the Avatar.”

“I am not sure I see your solution, nephew.”

“What if she didn’t know where to look?”

Iroh blinks and then grins.

“Ah, the sand-shifter strategy. Nephew, I must say, I believe pai sho has been quite good for you.”

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of that, actually…” Zuko says, embarrassed. “It was one of Sokka’s strategies.”

Iroh’s smile grows brighter still.

“Ah, yes. I would very much like to play pai sho with this young man. He seems like a formidable opponent. Please, tell me his strategy.”

“Okay, it was called Sneak Atta— I mean, Plan Thirty-Two. The moose-elk would stampede if they heard you coming, but it was always really quiet out on the ice. It was hard to walk quietly enough that they wouldn’t hear the crunch of snow under your boots. But if there were otter-penguins around, they made a bunch of noise and the moose-elk just learned to ignore them.”

“Allowing you, the hunter, to use the noise as cover,” Iroh says, nodding sagely. “You suggest that we make some ‘noise’?”

“Remember the first month on the Wani, how we kept changing direction? I wanted to follow every lead at once. We ended up going in a circle.”

This was a rather painful thing to remember. Zuko had been furious at himself, at his crew, at the world. He had sorted through hundreds of reports of Avatar sightings over the past one hundred years and had become paralyzed by indecision. His insides squirmed a bit to think of putting Azula through the same agony. She was more decisive than him, of course, but he saw how much a hold Ozai had over her. She would be terrified to disappoint their father, and that would be her undoing.

Zuko takes a deep breath. He needed to protect his friends, the Avatar, and innocent people from Azula. This was the best way forward.

“We need to send out false reports. We can relay messages through your White Lotus contacts. They can spread the word of Avatar sightings around the world, and they can send them from their locations to make it look more authentic. Azula will have spies to intercept the messages, and she won’t know where to go.”

Iroh nods.

“Very well, nephew. That seems like an excellent plan.”

“Except… I don’t know where _we_ should go. We can’t keep running forever, uncle. We need a place we can hide from the Fire Nation while we put this plan in motion. People are going to recognize us.”

“I may have an idea about that.”

—

Ba Sing Se is far and away Zuko’s least favorite place he’s ever been. He would even prefer the empty, depressing Air Temples over this — at least the mountains had been beautiful.

Zuko supposes there are nice parts of the city but as a refugee he is stuck in the lowest ring with no access to them. There are no green spaces here, only dust. There aren’t even weeds growing in the cracks between run-down shacks. He asks about the drought once, but he is told that there is no drought and is urged to keep quiet while he waits in line for water from the nearest pump. It is at least an hour to get the daily ration of water, and then another hour to get food rations.

The people here might like to say that there is no war in Ba Sing Se, but Zuko had never been to a more war-torn place.

He had scarcely felt the war as a child. He had thought he understood it, of course: the righteous goal of the Fire Nation to unite and lift up all other nations, and the cowardly rebels who hoarded their own power rather than join the Fire Nation. He had trained his mind and body for war. He wanted nothing more than to be strong and brave like his cousin, Lu Ten, and to go off to battle.

The illusion had cracked after Lu Ten’s death. Zuko had never _really_ thought he would die. Dying in wars was for enemies, not heroes like Lu Ten. After his mother disappeared, Zuko took to hiding himself away and discovering secret passages around the palace. He heard servants discussing the war — sons and daughters off fighting, the deaths of husbands and wives. He had tried to rationalize it — all for the good and the glory of the Fire Nation — but he hated hearing them cry.

In the bewildering pain of his exile, Zuko forgot about the war for a while. He became so focused on the Avatar, he pushed aside the pain of others. It showed itself again when he came to the Southern Water Tribe. Many had lost people they loved, but that was not so unusual. After all, lives had been lost by the Fire Nation as well. It seemed pretty even to Zuko.

His idea of the war had been truly shattered by, of all things, fish hooks.

In the first few months with the Southern Water Tribe, Zuko and Sokka were unskilled at hunting moose-elk. They would need to rest after their hunts, but food was still scarce, so they would take out a canoe to go fishing. Katara would join them, and the three of them would sail out into the harbor. Usually Sokka would work on carving more fish hooks while Katara and Zuko waited.

“Why are you doing that?” Zuko asked Sokka.

“Doing what?”

“Making a fish hook out of antlers. The bony ones break if you get a fish too big.”

“Well, what else are we supposed to use?”

“Metal, obviously.”

Katara and Sokka exchanged looks.

“We can’t use metal for fish hooks,” Katara said, slowly. “What if we lost one?”

“Then you just get a new one.”

“How?” Sokka asked.

Zuko stared at them, puzzled.

“Can’t… can’t you just get more?”

“Metal doesn’t grow on icebergs, Zuko.”

“I know!” he said hotly. “But it’s not that hard to find, either.”

“It is down here,” Sokka explained. “Any metal we get, we have to use for weapons. There’s not enough to spare for anything else.”

Sokka had said this in a matter-of-fact tone, but Zuko felt like he had been slapped in the face. All those weeks, he had assumed that the people of the Southern Water Tribe were backwards and set in their ways. He had thought they _wanted_ to be doing things the old way, eschewing modern advancements. It had not occurred to him that they simply did not have access to materials. The war had cut them off from everyone and everything.

Although the Southern Water Tribe had lacked resources, this had been true for all of its people. If one person in the tribe was going hungry, it meant that they all were. Everything was shared, even suffering. Here in Ba Sing Se, however, the poverty is decidedly one-sided. Zuko had started sneaking out at night, finding gaps over the walls to the Middle and Upper Rings. The people there did not wait hours for clean water or food. There were leafy trees and gilded rooftops. The privilege of few was built on the backs of many.

Zuko and Iroh were able to secure a small, one-bedroom flat thanks to the kindness of their landlady, Ming. She was only a few years older than Zuko, but she looked much older. She worked long hours and needed someone to help keep an eye on her unruly eight-year old son, Bolin. Iroh had volunteered Zuko for this, something that neither Bolin nor Zuko approved of. Bolin had thrown rocks at Zuko’s head and run off immediately after his mother had left for work.

“Uncle, you can’t be serious,” Zuko said through gritted teeth. “I’m not playing babysitter for some brat. I don’t know anything about kids!”

“Nonsense, nephew,” Iroh had said kindly. “I saw you with those children in the South Pole. They adored you.”

Zuko colored.

“That was different,” he spluttered. “Some of them have known me since they were born. And besides, most of them just wanted someone to climb on. Bolin is an _actual_ kid with friends. He doesn’t need me following him around to make sure he doesn’t get into trouble.”

“Please, nephew,” Iroh frowned. “We must do our part here.”

That had been the end of the conversation. Iroh had been fortunate to find work in a local tea shop — Zuko should not have been surprised about this turn of events — while Zuko worked two jobs: moving crates for the tea shop in the mornings and evenings, and trying to make sure Bolin at least had lunch to eat every day.

Zuko had been wrong about Bolin. The boy had no friends and a nose for getting into mischief. He frequently showed up for lunch with scratches or bruises. Zuko, concerned, followed Bolin at a safe distance one afternoon to deduce the source of these injuries. To his  
dismay, Bolin was a bully, and most of the scratches and bruises he got were inflicted when his smaller victims tried to defend themselves. Irate, Zuko grabbed Bolin by the arm before he thew another punch. He ripped the coins out of Bolin’s hands, giving them back to the smaller boys he had been intimidating.

“Apologize,” Zuko growled.

“Get _off_ me!” Bolin shouted. “You’re not my dad!”

“You’re lucky I’m not,” Zuko said darkly. “Come on, we’re going home.”

Most of their days go like this. Zuko keeps Bolin from terrorizing other children for the most part, but it comes at a price. Bolin does not want to stop fighting, so Zuko teaches him how to fight. They practice wrestling moves and swordsmanship with dull sticks. Bolin seems to enjoy this, but still occasionally sneaks out when Zuko is distracted by White Lotus missives.

He is deciphering a message from the North Pole when he looks up, realizing an unnatural quiet has descended upon the apartment. Hastily, he hides his notes under a creaky floorboard to go looking for Bolin. It takes an hour to find him, and by the time he drags Bolin back to their building, there is a man sitting out front, a bottle clutched in his hand. Bolin goes rigid.

“Who’re you?” the man slurs at Zuko.

“Lee. Who are you?”

“What’re you doing in my house, _Lee_?” the man spits.

Zuko blinks. He had assumed that Bolin had not actually had a father — that was not uncommon in this neighborhood — and he could not recall if Ming had mentioned a husband. Zuko turns to look at Bolin.

“You know this guy?”

“I’m his father, you fucking prick,” the man says, rising with a sway. Bolin shrinks behind Zuko.

“Yeah, well…” Zuko says uncomfortably. “Ming asked me to look after him today. We were going to go to the tea shop, right, Bolin?”

Bolin nods furiously. Zuko has a bad feeling about all this, but he knows that Iroh will know what to do.

“I can watch after my own son,” the man says, puffing himself up. “He doesn’t have money to spend at a tea shop anyway. Bolin, get in here.”

“That’s alright,” Zuko says. “You probably want the house to yourself. I don’t mind watching him. I’ll bring him back tonight!”

Zuko makes a beeline down the street. Bolin hurries after as fast as he can. Zuko is surprised to feel Bolin’s small hand in his.

They arrive at the tea shop, a little breathless. Zuko had taken a circuitous route, which Bolin had not questioned. It may not have been the first time he had to avoid his father.

Iroh looks a little annoyed at first — Zuko knew that the shop owner was incredibly strict and did not allow family members to visit — but Zuko quickly explains the interaction, giving Bolin some mint tea to drink quietly in a corner. Iroh frowns.

“Yes, Ming told me that her husband Fu might be back. I believe that is why she asked you to look after her son.”

“He seemed…” Zuko swallows, looking at Bolin. His throat feels tight. “He seemed really afraid of his dad.”

Iroh nodded sadly.

“Uncle, what do we do? I can’t bring him back there. The man was drunk, and he was angry about something.”

“Men like Fu are always angry about something.”

“Uncle, I’m serious. What if… what if he’s hurting Bolin?”

Suddenly Bolin’s behavior makes a lot more sense to Zuko. He, too, had been a bully to his crew after his father had hurt him, and even to Katara and Sokka sometimes. Zuko glances over at Bolin, who is scuffing his dirty shoes in the dust. Zuko’s heart twists. He should have seen the signs of another scared little boy.

“I am afraid,” Iroh says gently, “there is not much that can be done.”

“What if Fu hurts Ming and Bolin? There are police here, right?”

Iroh shakes his head.

“The Dai Li are not the police, Zuko. They are here to silence, not to mete out justice. If they were to respond, they might take Fu away to punish him, but they might also take Ming away for reconditioning.”

Zuko shuddered, remembering the vacant women welcoming them to Ba Sing Se. He did not want that for Ming or Bolin.

“So, what, we just _let_ Fu hurt his family? Uncle…”

“I know, nephew. I know.”

Zuko spends the rest of the afternoon distracted by worry. He goes through every plan he can think of, but most of his strategies involve hunting moose-elk, not avoiding abusive fathers. He and Bolin sit on a creaky bench outside the tea shop. Bolin also seems distracted, and the two of them play a rather half-hearted game of cards. 

Iroh closes up the shop and sits with Bolin while Zuko moves crates around. He’s happy to have an opportunity to burn off some of his rage, although he has to be careful not to accidentally set the crates on fire. He’s not sure who he’s angry with, exactly. There are plenty of candidates: Fu, for scaring his son; Ozai, for scarring his; himself, for not coming up with a solution to all this.

Iroh, Zuko, and Bolin trudge home as dusk settles. Ming is waiting outside the flat, looking anxious.

“If you need us to watch Bolin for longer…” Zuko starts.

“No, thank you,” Ming says tightly. “We will be fine. Thank you for looking after him.”

Bolin shoots Zuko a miserable look over his shoulder and the door shuts.

Iroh and Zuko eat in silence. Zuko feels on edge all evening, but he hears nothing coming from the floor below. Maybe Fu was just a regular drunk and not a mean one. Drunk people were scary to children, right? Perhaps Zuko had overreacted.

The moon rises higher and Zuko still can’t sleep. He knows that coming to Ba Sing Se was the right choice for their mission. Iroh and Zuko had not been recognized and had plenty of access to messenger hawks and other means of contacting White Lotus members. By all accounts, the plan was actually working. One month in and there were reports of the Avatar at the Western Air Temple, the Eastern Temple, the Foggy Swamp, and in the Fire Nation itself. Better yet, the reports of Fire Nation ship movements indicated that Azula’s fleet was streaming towards the abandoned Air Temples and not the North Pole. Aang had a little more time to learn waterbending before he had to deal with Azula.

Zuko tries to relax, but it’s hard with Iroh snoring so loudly. Zuko usually didn’t mind — he had gotten used to Sokka, after all — but tonight he feels annoyed. It feels like his uncle is bragging that he can ignore the danger downstairs.

Just when Zuko’s mind starts to slow, there is a scuffling from below, like furniture moving. There is a sound of a dish breaking, and then another. Uncle Iroh’s snores stop, and muffled sobbing can be heard through the floorboards.

Zuko is out of bed before he can think about it, but Iroh shoots of a hand to stop him.

“You can’t seriously expect me to do nothing,” Zuko says, shocked. “Uncle! He’s _hurting_ them!”

“You are right, nephew, but we must exercise caution.”

“Caution! Uncle, how can you…?”

But Iroh lifts a finger to his lips. Zuko pauses. The sounds below have stopped. The only thing Zuko can hear is his own blood pounding in his ears.

“When Ming rented us this flat,” Iroh whispers, “she did warn me about this.”

Zuko looks at his uncle, shocked.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I knew it would upset you.”

“Of _course_ it upsets me. How could you —“

“Nephew, please, listen to me. Fu works outside of the city in the mines. He is there for a month and is given leave for a week. He will be gone soon.”

“So you just want to let him beat Ming and Bolin for a week while we listen?” 

Zuko cannot believe how angry he is — there is a candle in the corner of the room that is half-melted already.

“Of course not, Zuko. Please, calm yourself.”

There are few phrases that make Zuko more annoyed than this one, but he remains silent. The candle still burns white-hot.

“Fu is not a stupid man. He knows that we are here, and he will try to keep his behavior a secret. It is enough that we make noise when we suspect he is about to get up to his… bad habits.”

“Child abuse is more than just a _bad habit_ , Uncle. You don’t need to sugarcoat it for me.”

Zuko gestures at his scar. Iroh nods, his eyes sad.

“Forgive me, nephew. I knew that this would open old wounds for you, but I thought that perhaps we could help Ming and her son just a little bit in this way.”

“We’re not going to be here forever, uncle. We have to do something bigger than just stomp around so he knows we’re awake and can hear him.”

“Yes, and I am working on that. But for now, we will need to make sure nothing escalates. Drawing attention will only bring trouble to Ming and to us. Do you understand?”

Zuko is not sure he agrees with his uncle’s strategy — right about now, Sokka’s Sneak Attack Plan 97 with a boomerang to Fu’s head seems like a more sensible option — but he concedes that his uncle has a point. Zuko has only just started tracking the movements of the Dai Li, but he knows they mean trouble. 

“I’ll take first watch,” Zuko grumbles, and he purposefully paces around the apartment, pausing to listen for sounds below.

For the next week, Zuko does not sleep at night. Fortunately, he hears nothing from below, and when he sees Bolin during the day, the boy seems fairly happy. He doesn’t run away when Zuko spends most of the afternoon napping, but instead practices his swordplay in the alley nearby. Bolin still has no friends — his bullying has pushed away most of the other boys his own age — but he seems slightly less angry than before. Zuko is at least grateful that Fu spends his day in dingy pubs getting drunk. It means Bolin has an excuse to avoid his father all together.

At the end of the week, Fu goes back to the mine and Zuko breathes a sigh of relief. Ming stops him one morning on his way to move crates at the tea shop and pulls him into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“Uh, yeah,” Zuko says awkwardly. “Anytime.”

He takes a few steps away before turning back.

“Look… uh, this isn’t really my business, but... what’s the deal with divorce in Ba Sing Se?”

Ming gives him a sad smile.

“It is possible, and I know you must wonder why I don’t do it,” she says as Zuko looks sheepish. “Money is tight. Fu owns this building, and his job in the mine guarantees him a wage. I couldn’t keep a roof over Bolin’s head by myself.”

Zuko wants to argue that it would be better for a boy to be out on the street with a mother who loved him than trapped in a house with a father who hurt him, but for once he keeps his mouth shut. He grew up in a palace — what did he know about real poverty?

Still, it nags at him all month. Bolin follows him around everywhere like a shadow. Zuko keeps teaching him basic fighting strategies, mostly to keep himself sharp, and Bolin dedicates himself to his studies.

“Take that!” Bolin shouts at his imaginary enemies. “And that, and that!”

“Keep your fists up,” Zuko tells him. “Protect your face.”

Bolin does a good job, but sometimes he gets a bit carried away. There is an anger roiling under the surface that Zuko knows well, but he doesn’t know how to address it. He’s not sure why everyone keeps sticking him with kids. He’s useless at communicating with them.

One afternoon, Zuko lets Bolin play outside while he writes to some of the White Lotus members. There are new reports that the Avatar is moving through the Earth Kingdom, presumably to find an earthbending teacher. Unlike the lies being spread to confuse Azula and the Fire Nation, these ones sound real, and Zuko puzzles over them for a while. Did that mean his friends had left the North Pole? Should he set out to find them? Aang would need a firebending teacher eventually, and Zuko had achieved mastery with his uncle. It would be great to see Sokka and Katara again…

The door to the apartment bursts open and Bolin stomps in, furious. There are tears streaming down his face and a black eye is starting to blossom.

“Bolin, what happened?” Zuko says, alarmed.

“It wasn’t my fault!”

“I never said it was,” Zuko replies. “I asked what happened.”

Bolin is crying in earnest now, his fists still clenched in anger. It takes a moment for Zuko to understand him through the tears.

“Some of the big kids,” Bolin says, gasping between sobs. “They were beating up the little kids. I told them to stop, and I did what you taught me, Lee. I got three of them to run away and they only hit me once! But then…” his lip quivers and his sobs begin anew. “The little kids told me to go away, that I was just a… a bully like the other kids. They said they _hated_ me.”

Bolin dissolves into tears. Awkwardly, Zuko moves to sit next to Bolin, patting him between the shoulder blades.

“You did the right thing trying to stop the bullies,” he begins.

“But they were _right_ ,” Bolin wails. “I’m bad. Like my dad.”

Zuko’s heart twists. He fights the urge to give Bolin a hug. He has a feeling it would not end well and he doesn’t want to explain to Ming why they both had black eyes. 

“Do you think I’m a bully?” Zuko asks Bolin.

Bolin looks up at him, shocked.

“No way!”

“I was a bully once. No, really! My dad… he was kinda like yours. He… hurt me. Made me feel bad about myself. So I tried to make other people feel bad, too. Then I wouldn’t be so alone.”

Bolin goes quiet, staring at his shoes.

“But I’m not so bad now, am I?” Zuko ventures.

“No,” Bolin sniffs. “You’re pretty nice.”

“You can be nice, too, Bolin. It’s hard, and it takes practice, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.”

Bolin sits with this, hiccuping a bit from all his crying.

“Lee?”

“Yeah?”

“Was your dad really bad?”

“The worst,” Zuko grumbles.

“How did you get away?”

Zuko’s stomach lurches. 

“It’s… kind of a long story.”

“Wish I could run away,” Bolin mutters, scuffing his shoes on the ground. “But Dad will be back next week and we’ll still be stuck here.”

Zuko wishes he could think of something comforting to say — he tries to imagine what Katara would do — but in the end, all he can offer is distraction.

“How did you manage to get hit in the face?”

“One of the kids held my arm behind my back so I couldn’t block it.”

“Wanna practice one-arm release maneuvers?”

Zuko might not be great at pep talks, but he definitely knows kids enjoy trying to tackle him. Bolin seems heartened by trying to hit Zuko in the face while he’s got his arm pinned behind his back.

Zuko cannot think of a way to protect Ming and Bolin from Fu’s imminent arrival, and he resigns himself to another week of nightly guard duty. It is only two days before that Ming knocks on the door of the flat, grinning ear-to-ear. She finally looks her age, young and happy.

“Lee, your uncle said you would help me moving boxes.”

“Boxes?”

Zuko follows her down into her apartment. There are a few crates filled with some basic kitchen supplies, clothing, and Bolin’s collection of sticks that he uses as fake swords.

“Bolin is insisting on taking them with us,” Ming explains happily.

“Where are you going?”

Ming laughs.

“Oh, Lee. I see why Bolin says you’re so funny.”

Zuko, utterly bewildered, grabs the crate and follows Ming outside. As he deposits the crate onto the back of the cart, Iroh strides up.

“Ah, hello, Ming! I trust you will be settled by the time we join you.”

“Join them? Uncle, what…?”

“Come, nephew. I will explain.”

“Lee!” Bolin comes bounding around the corner and throws his arms around Zuko. Zuko is shocked; he knew that Bolin had come around to liking him, but he was still a querulous child. He would never give Zuko a hug under normal circumstances, and certainly not in front of his mother.

“We’ll see you later, right?”

“Er, right…”

Bolin doesn’t seem to notice Zuko’s confusion and excitedly runs to his mother to show her his new stick. Zuko has no idea where Bolin keeps finding them; there are hardly any trees in the Lower Ring.

“Uncle,” Zuko says, following Iroh into their flat. “What is going on?”

“We have been hired,” Iroh says happily. “The Jasmine Dragon in the Upper Ring is looking for two tea servers.”

“Uncle, I would be the worst tea-server in the world.”

“Not you,” his uncle continues happily. “Although they are interested in having a young man like yourself for manual labor — tea crates are always so heavy. No, no, I suggested Ming.”

“You got Ming a job?”

“Yes, and it pays much better than the one she has here. More than even a mine-worker earns. And there are two vacant flats above the Jasmine Dragon — one of the previous tenants moved and the others were sick of the smell of tea. Sick of tea! Can you imagine such a thing? Preposterous!”

Zuko shakes his head, waiting for his brain to catch up.

“So… Ming doesn’t need to live with Fu anymore?”

“No,” Iroh says happily. “And divorce law is quite simple in Ba Sing Se. You know how they hate a fuss here.”

“But what about Bolin? Won’t Fu want to be with his son?”

Iroh sighs.

“Yes, it is possible. It will be messy, and we may become entangled in it. But Ming says this is what she wants, so I thought —“

“Let’s get packing.”

Iroh smiles. Zuko may still hate Ba Sing Se, but things seem to be looking up.

—

Zuko knows he should be grateful to be living in the Upper Ring now, but he hates it even more than the Lower Ring. At first it’s because he’s angry about the disparity between the rings. People here have more money than they know what to do with, and yet none of them seem to consider using their wealth and influence to change things. It becomes harder and harder to hold his tongue, and he starts sneaking out at night, too frustrated to sleep.

It is only his nightly prowls that he finds the real reason he hates the Upper Ring: the Dai Li.

He had, of course, heard of the secret police in the Lower Ring, but surprisingly had not seen them often. The Lower Ring inhabitants had been left mostly to govern themselves, which had created its own sort of chaos, but it was controlled within neighborhoods. Here, the Dai Li were out in force. Zuko could not understand this initially — there seemed to be very little crime amongst these boring rich people — but then he started following the Dai Li around at night and paying attention to the doors they knocked on. 

It had quickly become clear that the main role performed by the Dai Li was to enforce the status quo. The only time Zuko came face-to-face with them was after he had talked to Iroh at the morning market about sending some of their wages down to the Lower Ring families. Not two hours later, the Dai Li were at their doors asking them a barrage of questions. It was obvious that someone had overheard them and reported them. Zuko and Iroh were able to send the Dai Li on their way — well, Iroh was because Zuko was too furious to speak — but they learn to tread lightly. Even what they might perceive as an act of kindness was a threat to the establishment.

Zuko hates it here.

At least Ming and Bolin seem happy about their new lives, although this might be due to the absence of Fu more than the new neighborhood. Ming and Iroh are relatively well paid at the tea shop, so Ming has enough money to send Bolin to school. Zuko has to bite his tongue about this; the fact that people here have to pay for an education is just another way of oppressing the poor, and it drives Zuko crazy. Bolin seems to love school, and finally makes a friend, Peng. Zuko frequently spends his afternoons teaching Bolin and Peng swordsmanship. Although Peng comes from a wealthy family and actually has his own tiny sword, Zuko insists they use Bolin’s stick collection for safety. 

Zuko’s sleeping schedule is erratic. He stays up most of the night tracking the Dai Li and learning about the tunnel system under the city. In the morning, he helps Iroh move tea crates before the shop opens, and then he sleeps sparingly while Bolin is at school. Most of the time, he has to cut his rest short to read, write, and send letters to the White Lotus members scattered around the globe. With the increased presence of the Dai Li, Zuko has to get creative about which messenger hawks he uses. In the afternoon, he supervises Peng and Bolin, trying not to fall asleep. When dusk comes, Zuko sneaks out and resumes his stalking.

Iroh does not chide Zuko for his sneaking out, although Zuko knows his uncle disapproves. He thinks his uncle feels sorry for him; Iroh has made offhand remarks about loneliness more than once. Zuko knows he shouldn’t feel lonely — he has his uncle now, and Ming and Bolin are always kind to him — but he can’t seem to stop the feeling. Reading the letters from the White Lotus members helps him keep track on his friends, but it makes the longing worse. He wants more than anything to join them, or at the very least, to contact them. But sending a letter would be terribly dangerous; Azula could track it to them, defeating the whole complicated web Zuko and Iroh have woven to distract her. 

Zuko spends most of his time mulling over his options. He needed to protect Aang and keep Azula distracted, but eventually, Aang would need a firebending master. Most likely, he would return to the South Pole, remembering that Zuko had promised to teach him. That might draw Azula south, and that would defeat the other purpose of their subterfuge. He needed to find a way to let Aang, Katara, and Sokka know where he was without putting them or the Southern Water Tribe at risk.

He is at least comforted by the fact that the Avatar is reported to be hopping around the Earth Kingdom. Zuko hopes this means Aang is still searching for an earthbending teacher. It will buy Zuko time. There isn’t easy access to the earth under the ice in the South Pole; Aang will have to stay in the Earth Kingdom for a while, so Zuko can think of a better plan.

It’s hard to think straight with so little sleep, which is probably why it takes him a week to notice the signs. First, there is strange activity in the tunnels underground. Zuko hears the distant groans of an animal — a large one by the sound of it — but it is difficult to investigate. The Dai Li presence is even higher than usual, which leads Zuko to believe whatever is being guarded is important, but he can’t figure out what is is. 

It is Bolin, of all people, who answers the mystery with the second, literal sign.

“Lee! Guess what?” 

Bolin and Peng rush to greet him after school. Zuko rises unsteadily from his nap, rubbing his eyes. Bolin is bouncing with excitement, waving a poster in Zuko’s face.

“The Avatar is in Ba Sing Se!”

Zuko freezes. By all accounts, Aang had last been spotted heading into the Si Wong Desert. Zuko had been worried about his friends, especially since there had been no flying bison spotted in quite some time since.

Bolin, unaware of Zuko’s inner turmoil, pushes the poster more insistently into his hands.

“Look!”

Zuko shakes his head to clear it. 

“ _Lost Bison. Responds to the name of Appa. If found, please contact Aang_.”

There are more details listed, including Appa’s favorite foods, the last location he had been seen, and the Avatar’s address. Zuko’s heart pounds. 

After almost a year apart, his friends are only ten minutes away.

“Can we go look for him?” Bolin asks.

“Huh?”

“The bison! That way, we’d get to meet the Avatar!”

Zuko can’t help a smirk.

“You want to meet the Avatar, do you?”

“Yeah!” Peng says excitedly. “He’s an airbender. That would be _so cool_ to see! No one has seen airbending in a hundred years!”

“Please, Lee? Can you come help us look for the bison?”

Zuko realizes suddenly that he knows exactly where Appa is being hidden, but there’s no way he’s going to lead Peng and Bolin down into the Dai Li tunnels. There is, however, another place he wants to look.

“Sure,” Zuko says. Bolin and Peng cheer and run off to collect their favorite sword sticks, just in case.

Zuko manages to convince them to head in the direction of the Avatar’s address. The boys at first protest that surely the bison would be hidden somewhere else, but Zuko casually suggests that the Avatar might be at home practicing his airbending, and they quickly agree to follow him.

Zuko’s heart sinks as they approach. The Avatar is being housed in an elaborate compound guarded by dozens of Dai Li agents. Zuko tries to look for gaps or weaknesses so that he might sneak in at night, but the Dai Li have done their homework. Not only is the perimeter patrolled, the inner grounds are watched as well. There’s even a little guard tower that’s been erected overlooking the walls around the house. Bolin and Peng are disappointed to scarcely catch a glimpse of the inner courtyard, and Zuko is unable to cheer them up. He, too, is heartbroken at just how hidden away the Avatar is, though not for the same reasons as Bolin and Peng. He wonders if he could just wait outside long enough for someone to come out — he has a wild fantasy of Katara emerging and throwing herself into his arms — but the guards shoo them away for loitering.

As Zuko leads Bolin and Peng back to the tea shop, his mood grows blacker with each step. Not only is he locked out from seeing his friends, but Aang has announced his presence to the entire city. Months of work obfuscating and diverting, and now Azula would know exactly where the Avatar was. Zuko had to find a way to get his friends out of Ba Sing Se and fast. 

The first step is to reunite Aang with his flying bison. Although Zuko’s heart wants nothing more than to focus on meeting up with his friends again, logic tells him that Appa should be the first priority. Even if his friends escape the city without him, at least they will be safe. He tries not to think about just how devastating it would be for them to disappear without having a chance to see them again.

He tries to focus his anger and worry on getting Appa out of the tunnels. The bison is as well-guarded as the Avatar. Zuko’s only advantage is that the guards here presume that no one knows about the bison. Although the guards are numerous, they are unprepared for an attack.

Zuko itches to act, but it takes him three days to bring his plan to fruition. Sneak Attack Plan 27 cannot be rushed.

It is executed to perfection. Zuko wishes he were better at storytelling so he could recount his ploy to Sokka in the detail it deserves, but he is satisfied with the results. He blasts the manacles off of the bison — the one flaw in the plan, as Appa is terrified by the fire — but the fire serves to scare off Appa into the night. The next morning, Zuko strolls by the Avatar’s compound. He cannot see much of the courtyard, but a big ball of bison fluff rolls like a tumbleweed out into the street.

Now it is time for another Sneak Attack Plan to get in contact with his friends. Zuko discusses his options with Iroh, who advises the utmost caution.

“Nephew, your friends are in grave danger. It will not help them if you are captured trying to see them, especially if it leads the Dai Li to discover your true identity.”

Zuko has to admit he is also worried about this. Some of the Dai Li had been giving him strange looks. Zuko had been growing out his hair and tried to use it to cover up his scar, but he knew it was a lost cause. No one had approached him, however, so he assumes his identity is still a secret.

Peng and Bolin make a pretty good cover. They insist on daily trips to see the Avatar’s compound, and Zuko indulges them. He’s still trying to puzzle how to break in when she emerges.

 _Katara_.

He wants to call out to her, but she is immediately flanked by two Dai Li agents, clearly escorting her somewhere. There is a sour look on her face that almost makes Zuko laugh; if they were in the South Pole, these two would be getting some serious ice water splashes in their faces.

For the past week, he had told himself that it would be enough just to see one of his friends to confirm they were alive and well. Watching Katara walk away, guarded by the Dai Li, his heart aches. It is not enough.

“Lee?”

Peng and Bolin are looking up at him curiously.

“Uh, what?” He realizes he has no idea what either boy has been talking about for quite some time.

They share a look and burst into giggles.

“Lee likes a girl! Lee likes a girl!” they chant in sing-song. Zuko scowls, but he doesn’t correct them.

“Come on,” he grumbles, leading them away.

He spends the evening obsessing over his brief sighting of Katara. She had appeared to be in good health and aside from looking deeply annoyed, did not seem under duress. It was strange that she was alone, however. There were rumors that the Avatar had made a brief trip leaving Ba Sing Se, but Zuko could not find anything to substantiate these whispers. He hoped that this meant that Aang at least had enough sense to not leave an obvious trail to wherever he was.

Zuko tells his uncle about seeing Katara. Iroh seems even more worried than before.

“If I could just get a message to her,” Zuko implores over their dinner. “Maybe I could find a place to meet.”

“Nephew…”

“Aang is going to need someone to teach him firebending eventually. I know Azula will still be after him, but I don’t think our distraction plan is going to work forever. There are rumors that she was spotted again near Kyoshi.”

“I agree that eventually the ruse must come to an end, nephew. But I urge you to exercise caution.”

“Argh!” Zuko throw up his hands in frustration. “Uncle, we’ve _been_ cautious for months! We’ve lived in this hellhole for ages, sitting around and writing letters when we could have been _doing_ something!”

“Like what, nephew?”

“I don’t know!” Zuko shouts, irritated. “But now they’re in danger and they don’t even know it!”

“We are all in danger in these times, nephew.”

“I know that! I just…” Zuko sighs. His shoulders slump and he gazes miserably into his soup. “I said I would protect the Southern Water Tribe. I said I would protect my friends. It just doesn’t feel like I’ve done enough to help anybody.”

Iroh lays a sympathetic hand on Zuko’s shoulder.

“I know it has been very difficult for you, nephew, and I know how much you miss your friends. We will find a way forward. You must remain patient.”

“Okay, uncle.”

Zuko waits until Iroh is dead asleep to sneak out that night. He feels some remorse at lying to his uncle, but seeing Katara again has awakened something in him. He can’t rest knowing that she is vulnerable. Zuko could find a way to protect her, he knew it. He knew the comings and goings of the Dai Li, after all.

He makes it halfway to the Avatar’s compound before he realizes he is being followed. He speeds up, darting into an alley. Thinking he is alone, he breathes a sigh of relief.

“Hello, Zuzu.”

The world goes black.

—

Zuko wakes to a pounding head and strange, greenish aura. He struggles to right himself, surprised to find that neither his hands nor feet are bound. He is too dizzy to bend fire, however, and needs to pause for a moment before he can take better stock of his surroundings. He appears to be in a cave, one of the many underground Dai Li prison cells. A green glow emanates from the crystals emerging from the ground and ceiling.

“Trying to capture the Avatar yourself, are you?”

Zuko blinks and turns his head. Azula is standing casually before him, a bored expression on her face. Her eyes, however, blaze with fury.

“What?”

“The Dai Li report to me now, big brother,” Azula says smugly. 

Zuko’s head throbs, so he decides to let her monologue for a little bit so he could figure out what the hell was going on. If his head didn’t hurt so much, he would be sure this was just a bad dream.

“Years of fighting and Uncle Iroh couldn’t move this city one inch,” Azula continues, pacing before him. “I’ve undone it in a week. This city is mine now, Zuzu.”

“Congratulations.”

Azula scowls, annoyed.

“I followed the Avatar here. His friends have been trying to get the Earth King on their side. Frankly, the king is an idiot who only cares about his stupid bear.”

Zuko groans. None of this made any sense. Why was Azula talking about bears?

“I knew the Avatar would come for that bison of his. All year, I’ve been getting reports of the Avatar and not one of them was useful. But that bison gives off a rather disgusting amount of fur. Easy enough to follow it for a while... helped me find some of his old friends — you remember the Kyoshi warriors, don’t you, Zuzu? You tried to insist they weren’t on your side, so I made my exit without capturing them. But to find them caring for a sky bison? Well, the writing was on the wall. They released the stupid furball before I could stop them, but I traced it here. And lo and behold, the Avatar came straight into the trap.”

Zuko looks around, a bit less confused, but his head still spinning.

“So where is he?”

“Who?”

“The Avatar. You said he was in your trap.”

Now Azula looks _really_ annoyed. She scowls at Zuko.

“Ah, so I guess you haven’t captured him quite yet, have you?” 

“Shut up! It’s only a matter of time. And besides, I’ve gotten one prize already, haven’t I? I found you.”

“How did you find me?”

For the first time, Zuko is afraid. Had she found Uncle Iroh? What if she thought Ming or Bolin were working with them? She would hurt them, they would be taken in by the Dai Li…

“The Dai Li report everyone who comes to see the Avatar to me,” Azula explains, oblivious to Zuko’s panic. “They noticed a man with a rather unusual scar coming around everyday with some kids. Well, the kids thing didn’t sound like you, but they said it looked like you were casing the place and that _did_ sound more like you. Lucky for me, I happened to be joining the Dai Li tonight to get a better look at this scarred man they kept talking about. And here we are!”

Zuko rubs the back of his head.

“Agni, Azula, did you hit me with a rock? Why not just use firebending like a civilized person?”

Azula bristles like an angry sloth-cat. 

“I’m not an idiot, Zuzu! Do you think I want a big fireball attracting attention?”

“If you’re really running the show now, then who cares?”

“You really are stupid, aren’t you? As you just so _rudely_ pointed out, I don’t have the Avatar yet. If he knows the city is compromised, he won’t come back from… wherever he’s gone off to.”

“Couldn’t find a trail of fluff to follow?”

“ _Shut! Up! Zuzu!_ ” 

Azula smooths back her hair, trying to look more collected. Zuko represses a smirk; he’s never been able to get under Azula’s skin this much before and he has a head injury. Bringing down Ba Sing Se notwithstanding, she seems off her game.

“It just so happens that I have a plan to lure the Avatar here,” she says haughtily. “Don’t worry, Zuzu. You’ll have some company soon enough.”

She stalks away towards the cave’s entrance where two Dai Li members stand guard.

“You’re not going to tie me up?” Zuko asks, incredulous.

Azula turns to give him a particularly evil smirk.

“I don’t have to.”

With an earth-shaking crack, the entrance to the cave slams shut. Zuko stumbles over, scrabbling for purchase, but it’s no use. There is no door to open.

The pain subsides in Zuko’s head, but the panic only amplifies. He’s trapped underground in a sealed-off cave. Worse than that, Azula knew he was in the city, and she must have guessed Iroh would be close. Zuko had no way to warn his uncle, no way to warn Aang, no way to warn Sokka or Katara. If anything, Azula would use him as bait. His impatience would cost him everything.

Zuko uses his fury to try to melt the crystals away, but it is of no use. A few shatter under the intense heat, but the rock underneath does not yield. Zuko shouts several obscenities into the echoes of the cave.

There is no way to tell how much time has passed before the Dai Li reappear, but based on Zuko’s hunger, it must be around breakfast time. The cave briefly opens — a rush of cold, dank air — and another prisoner is shoved in. The rock slides shut and Zuko rushes over to help.

“Zuko?”

Katara blinks up at him, her face slack with surprise. Zuko hoists her upwards and crushes her to him, his brain flooding with panic and relief.

“Are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

“I’m not hurt. Zuko, how are you —”

“I’ll explain later,” Zuko says quickly. “We have to get out of here first. I tried heating the rocks, but nothing happens.”

“What if we tried a freeze-thaw?” Katara suggests. “You get it as hot as you can, and I’ll freeze it. Sometimes fast temperature change can break stuff.”

Zuko blasts his fire as hot as he can make it until the rock where the door had once opened glows red-hot. With a nod to Katara, he jumps back and she swings her arms, gracefully pulling water from the cave’s stagnant puddles. It hisses on contact with the hot rock for only a second before Katara freezes it solid. 

There is a brittle, crackling sound, and Katara and Zuko share a grin. Zuko grabs a nearby rock and throws it at the ice. It shatters, taking rock down with it. They move forward eagerly to inspect their work and their smiles fall. The rock, while slightly more crumbly on its outer layer, is unchanged millimeters below the surface.

“Again?”

“Again.”

They repeat the process for the better part of an hour before Zuko slumps over, exhausted. He hasn’t slept in almost a day, and it wasn’t like he had been sleeping well before that.

“Maybe we should think of another strategy,” Katara says, looking concerned. “The guards will come back eventually, and they’re usually in pairs. We could take them out.”

“Yeah,” Zuko says, rubbing his forehead. “I thought about Sneak Attack Plan Five. It would work better with the two of us. You know that one?”

Katara smirks.

“Who do you think Sokka was forcing to memorize his plans before you came along?”

Zuko nods as Katara comes to sit next to him. Despite his fatigue, his heart beats a little faster as she settles in close. Their arms rub against each other, and she smiles at him softly. 

“Wait,” he says suddenly. “Speaking of Sokka, where is he?”

“He’s safe,” Katara says, obviously relieved by this. “He’s with Aang.”

“But Azula is going to be looking for Aang,” Zuko points out.

“Yes,” Katara agrees. “But Aang went to go see a guru to help him master the Avatar State. Once they’re back, Aang will be much stronger. And we’ll be free by then anyway — we’re taking out these guards, remember?”

Zuko can’t help but smile at her.

“I missed your optimism.”

“Oh, Zuko. I missed you _so much_.”

Zuko’s heart does somersaults. He hopes his face is still red from the exertion of firebending to cover up the flush he feels creeping up his neck.

“I, uh,” he stammers. “I missed you, too. You’ve gotten really good at waterbending. That ice was way colder than the slush you used to make.”

Katara smiles proudly.

“I’m a master now!”

Zuko returns her smile.

“Congratulations. I bet you were the best warrior there.”

Katara’s smile fades. Annoyance settles over her features, and Zuko feels wrong-footed.

“Most of the Northern Water Tribe would disagree with you on that. They don’t let women be warriors. They don’t train girls to fight at all.”

“But you learned?” Zuko asks, confused.

“Yeah, because I wouldn’t take no for an answer,” she says darkly. Zuko suppresses a smirk; he can only imagine what a force of nature Katara was to have gotten her way. “And even once I was a master, most of them still thought I was beneath them just because I’m a woman. Ugh, bunch of stupid jerks.”

“So,” Zuko begins with deliberate casualness. “I take it Mr. Future Husband was not found on this trip to the North Pole?”

“Hah!” Katara scoffs. “I wouldn’t marry any of them if they were the last men on earth.”

Zuko’s inner fire roars. He feels much more awake than he had a few minutes prior.

“Anyway,” Katara continues, not seeming to notice Zuko has gotten a few degrees warmer. “The point is, I learned to fight. And I even learned how to heal, too, which has come in pretty handy. Now Aang is a master, too.”

“Are you looking for an earthbending master for him now?”

“Oh, we already found one! Her name is Toph. I think you’d like her, actually. She’s a little rough around the edges.”

Zuko raises an eyebrow.

“In a good way!” Katara says hurriedly. “She can be kind of prickly, so sometimes we get into fights. But I think you’d know how to deal with her better than me.”

“I don’t see how,” Zuko says honestly. “You put up with me being a prickly bastard for four years. You’ve got more experience dealing with unfriendly people than most.”

“You’re not prickly!”

Zuko’s eyebrows rise higher still.

“Okay, maybe you were at first. But you didn’t trust us then. Once you did, you were way nicer.”

“Maybe this Toph person doesn’t trust you yet?”

“Maybe,” Katara says, nodding her head. “I think she’s just been on her own for a while. She’s not exactly a team player.”

“Well, maybe she’ll come around. You were patient with me. It helped.”

Katara smiles and pulls him into a side hug. He tries not to hold her too tightly, but it’s hard to restrain himself. They sit together peacefully for a moment before Katara pulls away to look at him. Her brow furrows in confusion.

“Zuko, what are you _doing_ here? We thought you were still in the South Pole.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I promised you I would protect the tribe, but then Uncle Iroh came and —“

“Your uncle found you?”

“Not on purpose. He came to warn the village that Azula was coming to find the Avatar. He didn’t know I was still alive.”

“He must have been so happy to find you again.”

Katara beams up at him. Zuko squirms a bit under her gaze. 

“Uh, yeah. It was… nice. But that’s not the point. I made you a promise…”

“It’s okay, Zuko. I know you wouldn’t leave without a good reason.”

“We tried to distract Azula for as long as we could,” he explains. He gives Katara the fastest possible version of events: the basics of his work with the White Lotus Society, how he and Iroh had been on the run to avoid Azula, how he had ended up in Ba Sing Se. Katara listens with rapt attention.

“Anyway,” Zuko says, a little embarrassed to have been talking for so long. “I wanted to come see you, but before I could, Azula captured me and, well…”

Katara nods.

“And now you’re here.”

“What about you? How did Azula grab you?”

“I was on my way to a meeting,” Katara sighs. “We’ve been trying to get the Earth King to act, but it’s like talking to a brick wall. The people here just keep repeating —“

“ _There is no war in Ba Sing Se_ ”

“Yes! It’s so _annoying_. Anyway, I arrived for the meeting and I _thought_ I was talking to the Kyoshi warriors but it was really your sister. The Dai Li grabbed me and forced me down here. I tried to bend, but Azula implied she had Aang down here and if I resisted, she would hurt him.”

“It’s okay, Katara,” Zuko says in what he hopes is a comforting tone. “We’re going to get out of here and protect Aang.”

Katara smiles at him in a way that makes his heart leap to his throat.

“I’m so happy to see you again, Zuko. I wish it was under better circumstances,” she says with a glance around the cavern, “but still. There are so many things I wanted to tell you about.”

“Me too,” Zuko admits.

They sit in comfortable silence for a long moment, smiling at each other. It should be weird — Zuko normally hates it when people stare at him, especially his face — but it feels safe with Katara. After a year apart, he feels like he could look at her for days and not get tired of it. With each passing second, he is more aware of her presence; the cavern fades away around them. Her eyes are even bluer than he remembered, her lips fuller. There is the faintest hint of freckles on her cheeks, and he wonders how much time his friends spent in the Si Wong Desert. He supposes now would be the right time to ask, but he doesn’t want to break the moment between them. He is satisfied just to gaze upon her face, smiling softly at him, and to know that for this brief moment, she is safe.

Something shifts in Katara’s expression and she opens her mouth to speak. Zuko waits with bated breath, but just as she begins, a faint rumble echoes through the cavern.

Katara and Zuko spring to their feet, ready to execute Sneak Attack Plan Five. Strangely, the guards seem to be approaching from the opposite end of the cavern, but Zuko presumes this cave, like most, has multiple tunnels attached to it. Zuko looks over at Katara, who nods, her face determined. Water swirls around her and Zuko sets his palms alight. They are ready.

The wall, rather than carefully sliding open to reveal the guards, explodes in a shower of rocks. Katara and Zuko prepare to fire but in the second it takes for the dust to settle and for them to aim properly, a voice rings out.

“Nephew!”

“Uncle Iroh?”

“Katara!”

“Aang?”

Zuko stiffly submits to his uncle’s hug and Aang’s enthusiastic greeting.

“How did you find us?” he asks.

“I went looking for you this morning,” Iroh explains. “I thought that perhaps you had tried to go see your friends.”

Zuko flushes, embarrassed to have defied his uncle’s express wish for caution.

“That’s when he found us,” Aang continues. “I had a vision you were in danger, Katara, so Sokka and I came back from the guru as soon as we could.”

“Did you manage to master the Avatar State?”

“Uh, yeah,” Aang says unconvincingly. “Anyway, our place was empty when we got back. There weren’t even any Dai Li guards, which was really weird. Then Iroh showed up looking for his nephew, and once we figured his nephew was Zuko, we knew something seriously bad had happened.”

“Where are Sokka and Toph?” Katara asks.

“They went to go warn the Earth King. Come on, we’ll explain more on the way.”

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere, Avatar.”

Zuko’s blood freezes. Azula, flanked by a squadron of Dai Li agents, strides in through the massive hole Aang had blasted into the room. The earthbending Dai Li guards open up tunnels around the cave, and even more Dai Li flood into the cavern. Zuko and his friends are trapped and vastly outnumbered.

So much for Sneak Attack Plan Five.

Aang and Iroh turn to look at Azula, but in the moment of their distraction, the Dai Li agents strike. Rock emerges upwards from the earth, encasing them both in green crystals. Zuko and Katara cry out in alarm, but manage to spring away before the earth swallows them up as well.

“There’s nowhere to run, brother,” Azula purrs. “You may as well admit defeat.”

Zuko sinks into a defensive stance, Katara mirroring his movements. 

“Sneak Attack Plan Seventeen?” he suggests.

“Got it.”

“What was that, Zuzu? You should speak up. Mumbling is unbecoming to —“

Azula’s voice is drowned out by the roar of his fire. In sync with Katara, he moves his arms in a wave, blanketing the Dai Li soldiers in fire. They yelp in pain and spring backwards. The other half of the soldiers howl in fury, encased in ice. 

Azula wastes no time striking back, but Zuko parries. Katara dances around him to sweep ice over the rest of the Dai Li, still disoriented by the heat of Zuko’s fire. Zuko tries to stay calm — he had not expected Katara to be quite so powerful — and he knows not to declare victory yet. Aang and Iroh are still encased in rock, and it will be hard to get them out with Azula spitting fire at them.

Zuko stays on Azula, but he can feel himself losing ground. Katara runs over to free Aang, trying to crack the crystals open with her ice blasts. It is slow going, and Zuko has to use all his strength just to defend against Azula. His head is throbbing again — he is certain that he is concussed, and it makes it difficult to focus.

A loud crunching sound causes Azula to turn away from Zuko in time to see Aang wriggling free from the small gap Katara had broken off for him. Zuko tries to keep Azula’s attention, but she deftly dodges his fire, hurling her own blasts at the Avatar. Katara douses the flames with swirling towers of water. Her face is wild with anger; Zuko dimly thinks about how beautiful she is before he tries firing another fire blast at Azula. It misses, and he curses. This concussion was really starting to mess with him.

Katara is more than holding her own against Azula, which seems to incense the Fire Princess. Aang, meanwhile, uses his earthbending to free Iroh, but it is too late. A few of the Dai Li have managed to free themselves from the ice and are hurtling rocks at them. Zuko and his friends are pinned back. The tunnels are swarming with Dai Li and Azula gives a twisted smile. There is no escape.

Zuko blinks hard, trying clear his head. Uncle Iroh is looking at him with concern.

“Zuko?”

“‘M fine, unc— uncle.” 

When did it get so hard to talk? And why are there two Irohs in front of him?

He is distracted by a bright light, and turns to see Aang slowly rising into the air. His blue tattoos glow a brilliant white, and the air in the room seems thinner. Zuko stares, jaw hanging open. Was this the Avatar State he had read about?

But before Aang can do anything, there is another flash of brightness. Katara screams as lightning strikes Aang in the back, sending him plummeting to the earth. 

Zuko goes to help Katara, while Iroh springs forth with a huge flame. Azula is pushed back as Iroh breathes fire towards her and the Dai Li.

“I can’t feel a pulse!” Katara cries, panicked.

“Katara, you have to get him out of here. You said you could use waterbending for healing, right?”

“Yes, but never on anything so severe. Zuko…”

“You have to run, Katara. Uncle and I will hold off Azula. Get to Sokka and Toph and get the hell out of here.”

Katara looks stricken, clutching Aang’s limp body to her.

“Zuko, I can’t just leave you here.”

Perhaps it is the concussion, but Zuko can’t think of how else to impress upon her the importance that she leave immediately. He pulls Katara close and places a gentle kiss on the top of her head. The smell of salt water fills his senses, and for a moment, he is back on the icy plains of the South Pole. His heart aches to be there with her, safe and content.

“I’ll find you,” he promises. “Go. Aang needs you.”

Katara hesitates for a moment before summoning the water in the room. It flows under Aang’s body, lifting him upwards. With one last glance at Zuko, Katara turns and runs out of the cave, Aang carried on the wave beside her. Dai Li agents move to follow, but Zuko throws up a wall of fire. 

He holds his fire as hot as he can, hoping that Iroh will soon fend off Azula. He can feel himself tiring — the concussion, the lack of sleep, the exertion of fighting — but he is determined to provide safe passage for Katara as long as he can. Only then can he and Iroh flee.

A moment’s distraction is all it takes. A Dai Li guard flings a clod of soil at Zuko’s head, and he is unable to duck in time. His fire stops as he stumbles, and the Dai Li slam earth around him.

“Nephew!” Iroh cries in alarm.

Zuko tries desperately to free himself, but the earth is solid around him. As the adrenaline of the fight fades, things seem to move in slow motion. Spots of light dance around the cave, and the world spins. He gags, and it becomes hard to breathe.

The last thing he hears is Azula’s laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh! That can't be good.
> 
> More to come :)


	4. Book Three: On Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, this section is LONG. I've decided to rephrase the chapters as 'books' like in ATLA because they could technically be many chapters. This is the structure I wanted, so you get a massive hit of thirty thousand words at once. Sorry not sorry. But seriously, if you're binge reading this, go take a nap or a walk first. Prepare yourself.
> 
> Rating goes up in this one, so I'm changing the story to M. Enjoy!

Under most circumstances, Zuko would not look forward to spending time in prison, but after two weeks at sea with a severe concussion, his time in lockup cannot come soon enough. The roiling seas had scarcely abated for the entirety of the journey, and Zuko had lost a shocking amount of weight. Almost everything he ate or drank came back up. He was not usually prone to seasickness, but his head spun nonstop, even when his eyes were closed. He thought even Azula pitied him, although she had mostly seemed annoyed.

While Zuko was locked in the bowels of the ship, vomiting, Azula had come down to crow over her success. One rare morning where Zuko had had enough strength to speak, he challenged her.

“Aang isn’t dead.”

“Of course he is!” Azula had snapped, irritated that her monologue had been interrupted. “No one can survive a direct lightning hit.”

“Aang can.”

Zuko was actually not sure about this. Aang _had_ seemed rather lifeless when Katara had carried him away. Although Zuko was normally a terrible liar, his illness made it more difficult for Azula to read him. His face was constantly pinched in pain from his throbbing head whether he was telling the truth or not.

“It’s over, brother,” Azula said coldly. “The Avatar is gone, and because I killed him in the Avatar State, he can never be reborn. I have put an end to the Avatar cycle.”

“If that were true, Azula, you would have done an unspeakable thing. It’s not something to brag about.”

“I will bring glory to the Fire Nation!”

“By killing a sixteen-year-old kid?”

“He was the Avatar! Master of all four elements!”

“Two and a half, actually.”

“Shut up, Zuzu!”

She had stormed off, returning hours later to lay into Zuko about how her success would mean victory for the Fire Nation and Firelord Ozai’s approval. Zuko had wanted to point out that she seemed more concerned about their father than about the people of the Fire Nation, but his head was aching so fiercely that he could do nothing but lie still and hope he didn’t vomit again.

The rest of the voyage is fairly boring, the constant undulation notwithstanding. There is one night Zuko has a feverish dream of his guards trying to shake him awake.

“Come with us at once.”

“Don’ wanna,” Zuko had slurred. He had barely rested in daytime with all the vomiting and listening to Azula ranting. His head pounded as he shut his eyes against the light of the guard’s flame.

“You must come with us,” the guard insisted.

“Wanna go home,” Zuko moaned. 

What he wouldn’t give for the silence of the frozen tundra. Zuko did not love the cold, but his cell was close to the ship’s boiling steam engine. Even a South Pole winter seemed preferable over the inescapable heat.

When he woke in the morning, his guards poked him again.

“What did you do?” they asked him.

“What?”

“Why are you still here?”

“Because you locked me in here. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Azula had slinked back into the room, her eyes fixed on Zuko. “Leave us,” she commanded the guards. It was time for another one of her speeches, and she seemed particularly unhinged that morning. Zuko had shut his eyes and tried to think of icebergs as he sweated through his tunic.

Although Azula had given Zuko a daily monologue for a fortnight, Zuko has no real idea what waits for him in the Fire Nation. It is clear that their first stop is Caldera City, and that alone makes Zuko want to vomit again. He had hoped that he would be brought directly to Boiling Rock Prison — a terrible place to end up, of course, but better than facing his father.

To Zuko’s surprise, a cadre of servants come to dress him once the ship docks in the harbor. He has to be sewn into his robes to avoid his cuffs being removed, so it takes ages. By the time he is presentable, Azula has practically paced a hole in the floor. Zuko wants to tell her that shouting at the servants is only making things worse — the terrified tailors work faster, but make many more mistakes — but he fears that opening his mouth will just lead to more vomiting.

Zuko is paraded through the streets of Caldera City, and he tries not to sway too much as he walks. His bruised brain is still reeling from his concussion, and having been on a rocking boat for two weeks has completely altered his equilibrium. But even in his addled state, Zuko notices something surprising.

“I thought they would be throwing things or booing me,” he admits unsteadily to Azula.

Azula frowns, displeased. Zuko can tell that she, too, had expected this.

“Well, you are royalty,” she says. “Peasants still know their place.”

Zuko does not respond. He has caught sight of the palace and his nerves make him too anxious to speak.

As they enter the throne room, Zuko’s heart pounds. He can feel flames licking the side of his face, the sound of his own screams. He stumbles for a moment — Azula glares daggers at him for almost tripping onto her — before he looks up.

Zuko expects fear to stab into him, but strangely his first reaction is amusement. He has to fight down a hysterical laugh. The enormous flames, the gigantic throne, the floor-to-ceiling banners of the Fire Nation emblem… all of these things had once impressed Zuko and now all he can think about is a dirty joke Sokka had once made about warriors trying to ‘overcompensate’ for the size of their ‘club.’ He can’t stop picturing what Sokka’s face would look like if he saw all this.

Ozai sits on his golden throne, staring down imperiously at his children and subjects. Everyone sinks into a bow except Zuko, who sways a bit from his concussion.

The last time he bowed to his father, Ozai had incinerated half of Zuko’s face. How could he pretend to respect his father after all this time? Zuko had seen how real fathers acted — how Hakoda embraced his children, how Iroh listened to Zuko’s opinions — and he knew the Ozai did not deserve his deference.

“What are you doing?” Azula hisses under her breath.

Zuko does not answer her. He stares at his father with a quizzical expression.

There is still a part of him that wants his father’s respect and love, and yet now he sees that there is none for his father to give. His father did not respect or love Azula, after all, as much as she pretended to the contrary. Part of Zuko is horrified to know that Ozai’s blood flows through his veins; he wonders if he, too, is a monster like his father. But another, stronger part feels pity. His father had never known the joy of friendship. His father had never gone penguin sledding for fun, or nursed a child back to health. His father had nothing but cruelty inside him — he had exiled every last shred of humanity from his heart.

“Ah, my worthless son, returned to our home,” Ozai says coldly. “I see you are just as insolent now as you were five years ago. Pain was supposed to be your teacher, but I see you learned nothing.”

“You’re wrong,” Zuko says, surprised at the sound of his own voice. The last time he had spoken in this room, he had been so young. Now he stood tall and proud – perhaps a bit thinner than usual thanks to all the seasickness — but he was a man now. Not the man his father had wanted him to be, of course, and Zuko is suddenly struck by just how lucky he is to have avoided that fate.

“You are a disgrace,” Ozai says furiously. “You have sewn discord in our great nation, plotted against us with the Avatar, tried to usurp —”

“I haven’t done any of those things,” Zuko interrupts. There is a visible shudder around the room — to interrupt the Firelord is an unforgivable insult.

“You _dare_ …”

“Yes, I dare,” Zuko continues boldly. He thinks of Katara and Sokka, their bravery and love for their people. Zuko loves his people, too. He cannot stand by anymore.

“You banished me for trying to _save_ our people,” Zuko continues. “You are the one who has sewn discord. You haven’t been listening, have you? The people want an end to the war.”

“The war’s end is at hand!” Azula says, jumping up. She seems to have had enough of bowing; the rest of the servants are still paralyzed in fear on the floor. Azula stalks over to Zuko, pointing her finger at his chest. “ _I_ have seen to the end of the Avatar.”

“Have you?” Ozai says, his voice dangerously cold again. “I have heard reports he is not as dead as you claim, Azula.”

Azula’s face pales so quickly, Zuko worries she will faint.

“Those are lies!” she shouts. “I struck him down with a bolt of lightning. You know I never miss, Father.”

“It’s true, you don’t,” Ozai agrees, and for a moment Azula’s shoulders relax. “But you did not bring back the body as I requested, and your traitorous uncle has managed to slip away on your watch. Would you really call that a _success_?”

Azula splutters, but Zuko hardly notices.

“Uncle is gone?”

“Ah, yes,” Ozai says, turning his eyes on Zuko. “I had heard that you were traveling and plotting against me with Iroh. My brother is a fool to have believed in you. I — ”

“Where is he?” Zuko interrupts again.

Ozai’s hands erupt in flames.

“Silence!” he shouts. “You have disrespected me for the last time, Zuko. You are a failure of a son, a failure of a man. You will spend the rest of your days rotting in a cell where you belong.”

“Why not just kill me?” Zuko asks. “Or are you mad that you failed at that five years ago?”

One of the servants on the ground turns her head to look at Zuko, confused.

“He sent an assassin after me,” Zuko explains. “Only he wasn’t a very good one. He didn’t manage to kill me or Iroh.”

Ozai, infuriated, blasts fire at Zuko and he barely dodges in time. The concussion is really messing with his reflexes.

“You are filling our people’s heads with _lies_.”

“No, that’s what you’ve been doing for years, Father. People aren’t buying it anymore. Why do you think they have been so eager to support a prince they thought was dead for years? Any alternative sounds better than you — even your disgraced son.”

“Enough!” Ozai thunders. The eternal flames surrounding the throne lick upwards, almost grazing the ceiling. Their heat makes Zuko feel nauseated. His mind flashes back to the terrible Agni Kai, and he finally falls silent.

“Take him to Boiling Rock,” Ozai says coldly. “He does not deserve to spend another second breathing the air of this city. As for you,” he adds, turning to Azula, “you will set out to find the Avatar’s body at once.”

Azula looks shocked. 

“But Father, I —“

“Get out of my sight.”

Armed guards hustle to lift up the still-bowing servants and usher them away. Azula and Zuko are flanked and frog-marched out of the palace, back to the waiting ships.

Zuko’s stomach clenches, partly at the idea of spending more time on a boat, but mostly because of guilt. Standing up to his father had given him a dizzying amount of relief — or perhaps it was the concussion that was still making him dizzy — but he had not meant for Azula to be sent away, too. Even if Aang was truly dead, Azula looking for him would certainly mean trouble for Katara and Sokka. Zuko tries to think of a way to help his friends from afar, but no plan springs to his mind.

“Azula,” he chokes out as they near the docks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean —“

“Save it,” she snarls. “I’ve had enough of you trying to undermine me in front of Father.”

Zuko’s anger flares.

“Oh, like that wasn’t the whole point of your capturing me — to humiliate me in front of Father to make yourself look good? Wake up, Azula. You’re never going to please him. He doesn’t want you to succeed.”

“You don’t know what you're talking about.”

“He tried to _kill_ me, Azula. He almost succeeded.”

“Well, you were always weak. I’m the strong one. I’m the one who should be his heir.”

“Why do you want to be Firelord?”

“It should be mine! Just because you’re older, that shouldn’t give you the right to —“

“No, forget that. Why do you want to be Firelord? What will you do for our people?”

Azula stares at him blankly.

“If we’re not going to help our people, we don’t deserve to lead them, Azula.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Uncle Iroh, Zuzu.”

In fact, Zuko had been thinking of Hakoda and the Southern Water Tribe. He had been present three years prior when the village had held a vote to re-elect him as chief. This process had been so shocking to Zuko it had taken him three days to full accept that this was really how things were done in the Southern Water Tribe.

“So you just take a vote?” he asked.

“Yes,” Katara confirmed. “Everyone votes.”

“Everyone?”

“Well, not kids,” Sokka amended. “You have to be at least eighteen. I won’t be able to vote until next round.”

“And everyone just goes along with it?”

“It’s a vote, Zuko. It’s what the people want.”

As Zuko had traveled through the Fire Nation with Iroh, he had wondered about this concept of public opinion. It seemed that most people were fed up with the Firelord, and there had been rumblings about how much use a Firelord was for a nation divided into many islands and colonies. In dimly lit pubs or hiding out in a barn, Zuko had occasionally mentioned the idea of people ruling themselves. It was radical, but the rift between the Firelord and his subjects had grown so great, it no longer seemed unfathomable.

As Zuko stumbles down the docks, he turns to Azula one last time.

“Uncle Iroh… where is he?”

Azula’s expression sours. 

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t have just gotten kicked out of the city, would I?”

“Father said he escaped. When?”

Azula’s eyes narrow.

“Hold it,” she tells Zuko’s guards.

They stop dragging him for a moment and he struggles to right himself. Azula draws herself up to face Zuko.

“I suppose I never told you the story of how I captured you.”

Zuko thinks back. It is hard to remember all of Azula’s gloating over the past two weeks. He had been very focused on trying to keep food down for longer than an hour.

“You were trapped in earth and you fainted,” she says, a note of mocking in her tone. “Your little friends had run off — that waterbender managed to ice over her exit and those stupid Dai Li soldiers couldn’t break it. Idiots,” she adds, rolling her eyes. “As if they couldn’t have just tunneled around it through the earth. Some people just need to be told what to do every step of the way, don’t they? Anyway, once it was clear you weren’t going anywhere, Uncle came quietly. He thought he could protect you by coming with us.”

Zuko’s heart squeezes. It was not often that people tried to protect him. Azula must recognize the look on Zuko’s face, because she smirks and narrows her eyes.

“Don’t look so pleased, Zuzu. Uncle escaped from the ship without you. He abandoned you.”

Zuko flinches and Azula looks pleased.

“Even if that’s true,” Zuko says, trying not to betray too much emotion, “how did he escape?”

Azula’s expression turns ugly.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be out here with you, would I?” She eyes him with suspicion before adding, “if you and uncle had some rendezvous point, a plan to reunite…”

“We don’t,” Zuko answers honestly. “I have no idea where he is, Azula.”

“Well,” Azula says primly. “At least you have something to think about in prison. Goodbye, Zuzu. Enjoy Boiling Rock. I give it a week before your fellow inmates kill you.”

She turns on her heel and flounces away. Zuko’s guards circle him again and drag him onto another ship. He doesn’t try to resist. Hearing of uncle’s escape without him has knocked out the last of his fighting spirit.

Zuko lies down in his cell, closing his eyes. His stomach roils again, and not just because of the bobbing ship.

—

Zuko is imprisoned at Boiling Rock for all of ten minutes before someone tries to fight him.

The past few weeks have taken their toll. Not only is Zuko still heavily concussed, but he has barely eaten or slept in days. Confronting his father had been a victory, but it had sapped the last of his strength. One punch is all it takes to knock him into the dirt.

“You think you’re better than us?” A prisoner looms above Zuko, cracking his knuckles. “You’re scum. Your family has destroyed the lives of thousands of Fire Nation civilians just so you can wrap yourselves in glory.”

“Would it help if I told you I actually agreed with you?” Zuko asks, rubbing his face. The punch had exacerbated the concussion; he was already seeing double.

The prisoner yanks Zuko up by the collar so they are level. The man sneers at Zuko and Zuko tries not to pass out. The smell of the man’s breath is vile.

Suddenly, Zuko finds himself back down in the dirt. The man has released him and is himself lying on the ground, moaning in agony. Zuko looks up.

“Need a hand?”

“Suki?”

Suki grabs onto Zuko’s wrist and hoists him up. He sways, almost toppling backwards.

“Whoa,” Suki says, alarmed. “Steady there.”

“Thanks,” Zuko says weakly.

“No problem. What the hell happened to you?”

“Concussed,” he grits out. Suki helps lead him over to a bench. He decides it is safer to lie down than to sit, so Suki, still looking concerned, seats herself above him. Zuko closes his eyes again.

“Azula said she caught your warriors with the sky bison,” Zuko says once he has regained some of his composure.

“Yeah, he was pretty banged up. I don’t know what happened to him before he got to us, but he was in better shape when he left. Azula had been tracking him, though, and she arrested all of us. Most of the warriors are kept in lower security prisons than this, but she thought she’d make an example out of me.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t arrest you the first time,” Zuko admits. “She thought you were trying to help me.”

“We had her troops outnumbered. They barely got away, and we figured we should focus on rebuilding the village rather than going after her.”

Zuko winces.

“Sorry about that,” he says. “I didn’t mean for your village to become collateral damage.”

Suki sighs.

“I know.”

They sit in silence for a long moment before Zuko speaks again.

“So you’ve been here for a few weeks?”

“Yes.”

“Have you been okay? Are you safe?”

Zuko still has his eyes closed, but he can detect amusement in Suki’s tone.

“Why, are you going to protect me?”

“I probably can’t do much right now,” Zuko admits. “Unless you need someone to get barfed on. I can manage that much.”

Suki laughs.

“Look, you don’t need to protect me. I can take care of myself.”

“I know. But it’s nice to know someone has your back.”

“And you want to be that someone?”

“Sure,” Zuko says. “We have the same goal, right? You want to help the Avatar end the war, and I want to make sure my friends stay alive.”

“Sokka told me you washed up on shore of the Southern Water Tribe and lived with them.”

“That’s true. And now I have to protect them.”

“Don’t you feel torn? You’re supposed to be the prince of the Fire Nation, aren’t you?”

Zuko sighs.

“I haven’t been that person for a long time. That doesn’t mean I want to hurt the Fire Nation, though. I just want to stop my dad. I want there to be peace.”

“And then you’ll be Firelord?”

“Actually,” Zuko says slowly. “I think there shouldn’t _be_ a Firelord anymore.”

There is a long pause. Zuko is tempted to open his eyes to get a look at Suki’s expression, but another wave of nausea stops him as he moves his head.

“What would you propose?” Suki asks carefully.

“In the Southern Water Tribe, people elect their leaders. That way, their leaders can take actions that reflect the will of the people. The Fire Nation used to have a similar system but it’s really the Firelord who holds all the power now. It would be complicated to reinstate a real democracy, but it’s better than having the country ruled by one man’s ego. Or woman’s, if Azula took over. Either way, the leader of a nation should be held accountable to their people, shouldn’t they?”

“Absolutely.”

Zuko opens his eyes. He had expected Suki to respond, but instead, it is a deep, gravelly man’s voice. Wincing a bit, he takes a look around.

Suki is not the only one peering down on him. A dozen prisoners surround Zuko, including the one who had knocked him into the dirt.

“You really think all that? You’d want to leave running the nation in the hands of the people?” one asks with suspicion.

“Yes” Zuko answers, anxious that this will trigger another prison beatdown.

The men turn to look at each other before grinning.

“We heard Prince Zuko was back and trying to make changes,” one says. “We didn’t realize just how much!”

“You can just call me Zuko,” Zuko says feebly.

The men laugh. One extends a hand to help him up.

“I’m good down here, actually.”

This causes the men to roar with laughter again. One of them pats Suki on the back.

“We should’ve trusted your judgement,” he says. “This guy’s alright.”

The crowd disperses, and Zuko turns back to look curiously at Suki.

“You vouched for me?”

“I tried to,” she says. “Chit Sang thought the best way to figure out if you were for real would be to use his fists. I disagreed, but he got to you first. Anyway, most people here are on your side. There are a few folks to avoid, but I can help you with that. I’ve got your back,” she adds with a grin.

“Great,” Zuko says, eyes fluttering closed. “Because I think I’m going to pass out.”

“Uh…”

“’ll be okay,” he slurs. “Jus’ don’ let them hit me again.”

It takes several weeks for Zuko to regain his strength. The first week is spent almost entirely in his cell while the world spins around him. Once he can stand for long periods, Suki tests his reflexes with easy hand-to-hand combat. He suspects she sneaks him some of her own meals when he isn’t looking in the mess hall so he can regain some weight. He wants to repay her for looking out for him, but Suki waves him off.

“I’ve been trying to plan an escape since the moment I arrived,” she explains. “And there’s no way I can do it alone. If we’re going to get out of here, you need to be at your best.”

Privately, Zuko thinks this is an insane idea. No one has ever escaped Boiling Rock for a reason, but he dutifully goes through Suki’s rehabilitation exercises. Suki explains that she herself had dealt with concussions during her Kyoshi warrior training, and he slowly but surely improves. He’s not confident an escape will be possible, but he knows his friends. They will come for him or Suki eventually, and he needs to be ready. He presumes Sokka will prefer Sneak Attack Plan 92 or Sneak Attack Plan 73, and he briefs Suki on them.

“Did Sokka really make you memorize all of these?” she asks, incredulous.

“It’s a lot easier when you can run practice drills, honestly.”

“Might not be a great strategy here if we want to keep our plans secret.”

“Agreed.”

Zuko finds that he rather likes Suki. She is clever and a good leader; Zuko is amused to find that many prison disputes are settled by Suki. Two squabbling inmates come to her, present their sides, and agree with her ruling.

“How did you manage to become the judge around here?” he asks.

“Frankly, I have no idea, but I’m not going to complain about it.”

Over time, Zuko thinks he might have an inkling why Suki is at best trusted and at worst ignored in prison. He had assumed that a young woman, especially a beautiful one, would be in great danger here. But he learns that Suki has been responsible for organizing sporting events and had even wheedled a ball from the guards. Most of the prisoners are starved for entertainment, but they are only allowed to participate if they play fairly. Suki, as the head organizer, has become synonymous with fairness. She treated people with respect and they, in turn, respected her.

“You know, prison might be both boring and violent, but I really thought it was going to be worse,” he admits to Suki as they go through their daily exercises.

Chit Sang, who is doing push-ups nearby, interjects.

“It was before she showed up,” he says, nodding his head at Suki.

Zuko gives Suki a questioning look.

“People were uniting in groups based on their differences,” Suki explains. “I suggested they could unite over what they had in common instead.”

“That must’ve upset the power order around here.”

“At first, yes. But then people realized that those on the bottom of the pecking order outnumbered the guys on the top. That made the top guys nervous — they couldn’t control everyone anymore.”

“Yes,” Chit Sang adds happily. “Now we must come to a group consensus.”

Zuko thinks back to the previous evening, when the prisoners had left the cafeteria en masse to protest poor food conditions.

“Suki, you started a revolution. In a prison.” 

“Yep,” she says happily. “And once we bust out, we’re going to spread it. And you’re going to help.”

Zuko blinks at her.

“Okay, sure.”

“That’s the spirit.”

—

Zuko has been imprisoned for a month when the sky goes black.

He wakes that morning with a sense of unease. He chalks this up to his breakfast of gruel — the prison strikes over cafeteria food have not lead to large-scale improvements — and only grows concerned when he starts to shiver despite the usual heat of the nearby boiling lake. He looks around; there aren’t many firebenders in the prison, but all of them are shivering as well.

As the eclipse begins, Zuko feels his flame vanish. He has struggled with the source of his fire before, usually when he was injured or felt particularly lonely, but it has never disappeared quite so completely. Some of the other benders let out cries of alarm. Suki turns to Zuko, concerned.

“Are you alright?”

Zuko shakes his head.

“I didn’t know this was possible,” he says through chattering teeth. “If all firebenders are affected…”

“It would be a perfect time to attack the Fire Nation,” Suki finishes. “Do you think Aang and the others knew about this?”

“No idea,” Zuko admits. He had been out of contact with the White Lotus members for quite some time, but this was the type of information they usually knew about. He hopes more than anything that something has been planned. Perhaps his escape with Suki won’t be necessary after all.

The eclipse lasts less than an hour, and Zuko cannot shake his disappointment. Even if his friends _had_ attacked the Fire Nation, there was no way they could bring Ozai and his troops to heel in such a short time. He tries to swallow his disappointment and turns to Suki, determined to get back to their training. They have a week until their plan is put in place.

They choose to modify Sneak Attack Plan 73: use your enemy’s resources to your advantage. With Sokka, this had meant scaring the biggest moose-elk up the bluff and chasing it at a full sprint, knowing that the momentum of the animal would send it tumbling over the cliff. Zuko is sure that Azula would object to being compared to a moose-elk, but she might be mollified to be considered the strongest one.

Azula had resumed her search for the Avatar with limited success. Clearly the group had figured out that Azula was using Appa to track them and would complete confusing circuits, or else spend days out of sight. Frustrated, Azula would turn to her favorite punching bag: Zuko.

He had barely gotten back on his feet when Azula had visited the first time. Zuko had been hauled away from the general population to the warden’s office where Azula had questioned his knowledge of the Avatar’s movements. Zuko would challenge this — if the Avatar was dead like Azula kept claiming, why did she keep looking for him? This would only anger Azula, who claimed that she knew the Avatar was dead, she was just looking for his friends to get the Avatar’s body. Zuko was relieved that he honestly had no idea where Aang or his friends were, as his ability to lie was as poor as ever. Azula, incensed by her lack of progress, would threaten Zuko with all sorts of bodily harm, but she never carried it through. Zuko sensed that although Azula claimed not to believe him, she knew him too well to think he was lying. She just needed someone to scream at. Zuko, having embarked on his own fruitless search for the Avatar, understood the impulse. 

Although Azula did not visit with regular frequency, there were signs of her impending approach. Azula did not eat in the mess hall with prisoners, but journeys to and from Boiling Rock were far enough to necessitate a meal. It was obvious when Azula sent word of her impending arrival; the cooks would get nervous and start hoarding all the fire flakes, anticipating the need for such luxuries when the Fire Princess arrived. Zuko and Suki would notice the blandness of the food and three to five days later, Azula would arrive.

Azula employed the use of an airship to come to Boiling Rock, and this was the resource Zuko intends to exploit. Suki and Zuko plan to incite a prison riot to draw the wardens and guards away, but for their plan to really work, Zuko needs to rile Azula up. The old Azula was calm and collected, the picture of perfect control. But ever since Ba Sing Se, Azula seemed more and more desperate. Zuko sensed he could bait her into recklessness, and this would be her undoing.

The problem with their plan is that ideally at least three people are needed. If Suki encountered guards on her way to Zuko, she could easily be outnumbered. Like all Sneak Attack Plans, this would only work once. If they failed, Azula was sure to make an example of them. Zuko knew that the only reason his father had not attempted to have him killed again was that it would turn Zuko into a martyr to the people who supported him. Suki, on the other hand, would not be spared if she was found to be helping Zuko. She claimed that she was prepared to take the risk, but the idea made Zuko’s stomach clench uncomfortably. Zuko did not have many friends, and he liked to think of Suki as one — he would never forgive himself if anything happened to her, especially if it was at his crazy family’s behest.

A wrench is thrown into their plans when a new transfer of prisoners arrives to Boiling Rock the morning of Azula’s supposed arrival. The guards are on high alert and several potential avenues of escape are closed so that the guards can keep everyone penned in the yard instead of wandering about.

“Should we call it off?” Zuko whispers to Suki.

“We might not get another chance soon,” Suki responds. “Azula’s visits have been less frequent lately, and clearly the Fire Nation didn’t fall during the eclipse. We need to get out of here if we want to help the Avatar before it’s too late.”

Zuko opens his mouth to respond but he catches sight of one of the new prisoners standing in the center of the yard. 

“Zuko? What do you think?” Suki prompts.

“What would you think about adding a third person to our plan?” he asks.

“Who?”

“That guy.”

Zuko nods his head to the man. Suki’s eyes narrow.

“He looks familiar…”

The man spots Suki staring and frowns at her. His eyes shift to Zuko and his jaw drops open in surprise.

“Oh!” Suki whispers excitedly. “I know that look!”

Of all the people Zuko expected to see in the Fire Nation, Chief Hakoda of the Southern Water Tribe was not at the top of the list. Zuko presumes that Hakoda had not expected to see Zuko either. The likeness between Hakoda and his son when they were surprised was rather striking. Zuko wants to go to Hakoda immediately — perhaps he had news of the tribe or his children — but he knows that it will draw too much attention if he makes a fuss.

“The guards are looking,” Zuko warns Suki. “Act natural.”

“Oi, what are you looking at, old man?” Suki fires at Hakoda. Zuko resists the urge to smack his forehead in frustration; this was the opposite of what he had in mind.

And yet, it seems that Suki’s strategy is a good one. Hakoda looks offended briefly and then narrows his eyes.

“I’m no old man,” Hakoda says as he stalks over to them. “I could pound you into the dirt, little girl.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“I don’t attack children.”

“Don’t condescend to me — you’re just scared to get your ass kicked.”

“Hey, break it up!” A guard shouts from above. “We don’t need your nonsense today.”

The guard sends a nervous look skyward. Zuko’s suspicions of Azula’s imminent arrival are all but confirmed.

Suki and Hakoda glare for a moment longer before she extends her hand. The rest of the prison yard looks on. Once Hakoda shakes Suki’s hand and the feud seems settled, they go back to their business, ignoring Suki, Zuko, and Hakoda.

“I was wondering where you went,” Hakoda mutters under his breath to Zuko.

“Chief Hakoda, I am so sorry I left the tribe. My sister was —”

“I understand,” Hakoda interrupts. “Kanna told me why you left. You did the right thing, my son.”

Zuko tries not to fidget uncomfortably at these words. Having just seen his actual father makes Hakoda’s treatment of him all the more striking.

“This is Suki,” he says, trying to alleviate the awkwardness he feels.

Hakoda and Suki shake hands again. Hakoda smiles.

“You are the leader of the Kyoshi Warriors, are you not? My son Sokka has told me great things about you.”

Suki’s face goes rather pink. Zuko feels a jolt of excitement.

“You’ve seen him, then? When?”

Hakoda’s face grows serious.

“During the eclipse,” he says quietly. “We mounted an invasion against the Firelord.”

Given that Hakoda is in a Fire Nation prison, Zuko assumes that the attack had not been successful.

“What happened to Sokka?” Suki asks, concerned.

“He got away. Katara is with him,” Hakoda adds quickly after seeing the expression on Zuko’s face. “As is Aang and their earthbender friend, Toph.”

“Aang is alive then?”

“Yes.”

Zuko breathes a sigh of relief. For as much as he had wanted to believe Aang had survived Azula’s lightning strike, he had not been sure it was possible.

“What happened during the invasion?”

Hakoda gives them a brief summary of the battle. Zuko is relieved his friends had escaped, but he is dismayed to hear the cost. Many of the Firelord’s enemies had been captured and sent to separate prisons to prevent coordinated escapes or further attacks on the Fire Nation. He is not sure if he should ask about his uncle. Zuko suspects that Hakoda’s ideology aligns with White Lotus principles, but Zuko doesn’t know every single member of the organization; it was safer to keep most identities secret. There was a way to check, of course, but time was of the essence. Zuko did not have time for wrangling the one pai sho board in the entire prison just to ask Hakoda a series of confusing questions.

“Do you know where the others are?” he asks.

Hakoda shakes his head.

“No. I insisted to Sokka that he take great measures to hide. I could not know where they went in case I was captured.”

Zuko nods. This will make it harder to find his friends, but he needs to focus on one thing at a time.

“We’re planning an escape,” he whispers to Hakoda. “We could use an extra set of hands.”

“What do you need me to do?”

In their rush to explain their plan to Hakoda, Suki and Zuko forget to keep their voices lowered. Chit Sang, who is once again doing push-ups nearby, interrupts just as Zuko finishes his explanation.

“I want in,” he demands.

“Uh…”

“I want in, or I’m ratting you out,” he amends.

“Fine,” Suki says. Hakoda and Zuko stare at her uncertainly. “But if you don’t make it up to the gondola in time, we’re leaving without you. Got it?”

“Got it.”

The sun beats down on the yard as a black airship sails over the prison. Zuko steels himself. A guard comes to fetch him and he gives a final nod to Suki. He silently offers up a prayer to Tui, La, Agni, and any deity possible that neither she nor Hakoda is hurt.

Zuko knows he should be pleased to see his sister looking particularly unhinged, but there is a knot in the pit of his stomach as he takes in her messy hair and rumpled clothing. She had not even bothered to make herself more imposing before meeting him. She lays into him immediately.

“Where is the Avatar?”

“You keep insisting he’s dead,” he reminds her. “And I’ve been in prison for weeks. I don’t know anything that’s happened in the world outside of this rock.”

“You’re lying. You know where he is.”

“You always said I’m a terrible liar. I don’t know where he is, Azula.”

She lets out a scream of frustration.

“I have been searching for weeks for the Avatar and his friends. I know that stupid furball bison of his is still out there, which means _he_ is still out there.”

“Or it just means his teachers have adopted a bison now that he’s dead.”

“This isn’t a conversation, Zuzu.”

“Then why bother coming back here? Can’t you yell at your own crew?”

“I dismissed them all.”

“Wait, what?”

“They were all simpering _fools_. They wanted to _rest_. They wanted to _slow down_. I don’t have time to rest or slow down! Even if the Avatar is dead — which he is, of course, because I killed him — his stupid friends are still out there and they are still trying to bring down the Fire Nation. And _you_ ,” she hisses, turning to Zuko. “You are still trying to undermine me, even from this prison.”

Zuko blinks at her. While her obviously poor mental state bodes well for his escape plan, he is alarmed to see that she has descended into such instability. For the next ten minutes, she paces the warden’s office, ranting and raving about the conspiracies against her. Zuko feels a strange stab of pity and recognition. This is what he could have become if he had not ended up with the Southern Water Tribe. Azula’s venom has poisoned her own mind.

After a while, Azula’s vitriol abates and she and Zuko stare at each other. Zuko feels a twinge of anxiety he tries to suppress. Suki should have been here by now…

The door swings open and a frazzled-looking guard enters. Azula turns to him, furious.

“How dare you interrupt —“

“Princess Azula,” the guard cries out. “There is a riot underway. We must bring you to a secure location.”

“I am more than capable of handling myself,” she spits angrily.

“Of course, your Highness,” the guard splutters. “But you are the heir to the throne and protocol dictates...”

“To hell with protocol,” Azula snarls. “Do I have to do everything myself?”

She stalks out of the room, the guard frantically hurrying to keep up. Zuko takes a deep breath. Three, two…

“Psst!”

Zuko turns to the doorway again, which has been left ajar upon Azula’s exit. Chit Sang’s excited face peers inside.

“So this is the warden’s office, huh? Surprising amount of houseplants in here.”

“Hurry up and untie me,” Zuko says impatiently. “Azula took the bait, but it won’t be long until she subdues the riot.”

“Why would a princess choose to put down a riot herself?” Chit Sang asks as he loosens Zuko’s chains using the warden’s key ring. “And how did you know she would do it?”

“Azula doesn’t trust anyone,” Zuko explains. “If there’s a problem, she always prefers to take care of it herself, otherwise it won’t be done the right way. She thinks the warden and the guards here are stupid — she talks down to them all the time.”

Zuko and Chit Sang slink out of the office undetected. Zuko can see that most of the guards are down in the yard. Azula has just made her way down into the yard, hurling fire in a large circle. Zuko takes off in a run. It looks like Azula means business, so there is no time to lose.

Zuko and Chit Sang arrive at the gondolas to find Suki marching the warden into one of the cars. Hakoda goes to start the motor and they jump in. Two guards stand nervously at the cables.

“If you stop this car, your warden dies,” Hakoda warns as the gondola churns to life. “I’ll leave it up to you to do the math for how long you’ll stay alive if that happens.”

The warden, gagged and bound on the floor of the car, thrashes violently. Suki gives him a smug look before going to the window.

“Do you think we’ll have enough time?”

Zuko looks down to see another fireball erupt in the courtyard. The hum of the motor above them is loud enough to drown out the sounds of the riot below. It is difficult to tell what is happening from a distance. Too nervous to respond, Zuko looks to their destination instead. If they can cut the gondola line upon their arrival, they will be able to get the greatest head start against Azula, but it will take time.

In the end, it is time they do not have. Their group arrives safely on the far side of the boiling lake, but as the motor dies away, silence falls. The riot is over, and Zuko spots a tiny red figure flying up the prison’s facade. Zuko, Suki, Hakoda, and Chit Sang flee to the airship, leaving the warden struggling on the ground.

Operating the airship is a bit trickier than Zuko had anticipated, but fortunately Hakoda is as mechanically-minded as his son and quickly deduces how to steer the ship. They rise unsteadily for a moment until Zuko hears a distant scream of fury. Azula has leapt down from the second gondola and has spotted them stealing her ride.

Zuko blasts his fire as hot as he can. The ship ascends so dramatically that Chit Sang loses his balance and almost knocks Suki over, but they are at least out of range for one of Azula’s fireballs. She is trapped on the ground, her shouts growing fainter by the second. Hakoda steers the ship towards cloud cover and takes a hard right to keep them over a bank of fog.

Suki lets out a whoop of exhilaration. They are free.

—

The next phase of their escape plan comes with a rather large snag. Zuko and Suki want to find Aang to help the Avatar, while Hakoda needs to regroup his warriors. Chit Sang is eager to join in the Fire Nation revolution to overthrow the Firelord. Because of this, no one is sure where to go. A Fire Nation airship should be able to land safely in the Fire Nation, but they are all still in prison garb and might be turned back in to the authorities. Technically they would be safer in the Earth Kingdom, although there is always the worry that someone will think they are an enemy ship and shoot them out of the sky.

The compromise is to sail to one of the outermost Fire Nation colonies and land the ship just before dusk. Zuko is able to snag a cloak from the clothing line outside a small farm and sneak into town. It takes a while, but he finds a group of men playing pai sho outside a tea shop and asks for a game. He fumbles a bit for the correct passphrase. He really should have been paying more attention to this lesson from Iroh, but most of his interactions with White Lotus members had been through letters, not pai sho.

Finally, an elderly woman comes out to serve them tea.

“You there,” she commands Zuko. “Come with me. I need some inventory moved in the back.”

“But I —”

“Hurry up,” she snaps. “I haven’t got all night.”

Zuko, not wanting to draw attention to himself by refusing, follows.

“Who taught your our passphrases?” the woman chides in a whisper. “You’re terrible at it.”

Zuko scowls, offended, but decides it is best to take advantage of the situation rather than snap back.

“Do you know where the Avatar is?”

The woman eyes him warily.

“Why do you need to know?”

“My name is Zuko,” he admits. “I need to find the Avatar to —“

“Prince Zuko?” the woman asks with interest. “The Grandmaster’s nephew?”

“Uh, yes. But I just go by Zuko.”

“I will help you,” the woman nods. “But I do not know where the Avatar is. No one does.”

Zuko can’t help his disappointment. If not even the Order of the White Lotus knew where Aang was, this could be a very long search indeed.

“But,” the woman continues quickly, “there are rumors.”

“What rumors?”

“They say the mountains shake in the Western Air Temple. They say the rivers there flow and stop with the moon’s tides.”

“Uh…”

The woman sighs.

“I had heard you were not attuned to subtleties. How can the Grandmaster’s own blood be so literal?”

“Hey!”

“Listen, boy,” she continues. “The winds will blow you towards the Western Air Temple, okay? Try to follow them.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know where the Avatar was,” Zuko says in a distrustful tone.

“I don’t,” the woman confirms. “But if I were the Avatar, and I were hiding out from the Fire Princess and half the Fire Nation, I would pick a place that played to my strengths. They say all it takes is a strong gust of wind to send armies rolling down the mountains. Besides, most of the other rumors are that he’s gone back to the Northern Water Tribe. It’s the dead of winter there, and the Fire Nation would be foolish to attack it. You could try there, but they’d take one look at your face and probably kill you on sight. My best bet would be to try an Air Temple first.”

Zuko nods.

“Thank you for your help,” he says.

“Well, at least you’re polite, even if you are a little dim. Go, before someone else in this town recognizes you.”

Zuko runs off scowling. Even the men in prison hadn’t insulted him so freely.

They set off for the Western Air Temple, taking evasive maneuvers around the islands speckled below. Zuko doesn’t want to leave an easy trail for Azula to find.

When they arrive a few days later, the foggy mountains are eerily silent. Zuko’s heart drops. Perhaps the old woman had been mistaken and the rumors had not been true. Zuko really did not want to fly an airship to the North Pole. They would be shot down before they even reached the city’s outer walls.

As if he had summoned a threat just by thinking of it, a huge gust of wind knocks the airship sideways. Hakoda almost topples out of the balloon, and Chit Sang struggles to keep him from falling. Suki rights herself first and tries to steer the ship out of the wind, but another gust sweeps up from below and the balloon rises steeply before plummeting downwards.

Zuko scans the terrain. The mountains make for unpredictable updrafts, but this is ridiculous. Even the parrot-albatrosses circling around them look alarmed.

“What the hell is happening?” Suki shouts, clinging to the rudder.

Hakoda narrows his eyes, which gleam with understanding. Zuko opens his mouth to speak when Hakoda lifts his fingers to his lips and lets out an ear-piercing whistle.

The wind stops. Zuko can hear distant shouting before the whistle echoes back. Zuko recognizes the sound. Sokka had teased Zuko for not being able to do it when they were first learning to hunt.

“That way!”

Hakoda points to one of the large temples. A small group of people stands on the platform, waving wildly. Next to them, a giant bison slumbers.

The airship lands a bit more roughly than Zuko intends; his heart is pounding at the thought of being reunited with his friends. He had replayed his brief interaction with Katara below Ba Sing Se over and over again in prison. As much as he had fantasized about being reunited with her, he had not planned on her father being present. This eliminated several of the more passionate embraces he had imagined. To be fair, those had always been rather far-fetched — Sokka would hardly be a more appreciative audience to Zuko kissing Katara — and he wasn’t even sure Katara would _want_ to kiss him. But he was still unbearably nervous. It had been almost a year and a half since Sokka and Katara had left the South Pole. What if too much had changed between them?

Zuko hangs back to take care of the ship as Hakoda leaps out of the vessel to embrace his children. Zuko can see just how tightly Katara and Sokka grip their father’s arms and it makes his heart squeeze painfully in his chest. He is happy for them, of course, but it stings to think of how his own father greeted him after four long years.

Sokka releases his father to hug Suki and Zuko has to suppress a smirk. They seem eager to see each other again, but their greeting is awkward and stilted. Zuko is somewhat placated to see that Sokka is no better at dealing with women or feelings than he is.

Zuko cautiously exits the airship as Aang, Katara, and a small woman Zuko assumes is Toph introduce themselves to Chit Sang. The enormous felon looks amused at this small band young people, and bows to them. Katara rises from her bow and catches a glimpse of Zuko. 

At least Zuko’s imaginations had gotten something right: Katara runs at him with such speed that he is almost knocked off his feet. She grips him painfully tightly. It is perhaps not as romantic as he might have hoped, but his nagging fear that she would not care much for his appearance is put aside. He knows it is silly to think Katara would ever give up on one of her friends, but Zuko’s opinion of himself has not been particularly high over the past few months.

“Zuko!” Sokka shouts over Katara’s shoulder. “Katara, stop hogging him and let the rest of us hug him.”

“What about a group hug?” Aang proposes.

“Works for me!” Sokka says happily.

Zuko feels supremely awkward as Aang and Sokka join Katara to throw their arms around him. Zuko catches sight of Hakoda and Chit Sang trying not to laugh and he frowns.

“Okay, okay,” he says finally. “I’m happy to see you guys, too.”

“Oh, Zuko,” Katara says. “We were so worried about you!”

“Yeah,” Aang says solemnly. “Katara told us how you helped her and me escape. We had hoped you made it out after us, but then there was all this news you were being taken to the Fire Nation to be punished for inciting insurrections…”

“Why didn’t Firelord Ozai just kill you?” Sokka asks.

“Sokka!”

“What?” Sokka says, turning to Katara. “If he really thought Zuko was a threat, why not just get rid of him?”

“The rebellion will not be silenced,” Chit Sang says passionately. “We will not rest until the tyrant Ozai has been deposed!”

“Yeah, I’m kind of irrelevant,” Zuko says with a shrug. “And it would probably just incite people to turn against Ozai even more if he killed his own son. Publicly, that is.”

“He didn’t try to have you killed in prison?”

“Twice, actually,” Zuko admits. “But Suki had my back. She sent both of the guys to the hospital ward for a week. Nobody wanted to try too hard after that.”

Sokka turns to beam at Suki. Zuko bites his lip. If they were back in the South Pole, Zuko had no doubt that Sokka would be roping him into taking down the biggest moose-elk they could find to impress Suki.

Katara, on the other hand, looks dismayed. She is clearly much more focused on the assassination attempt than on Suki’s fighting prowess. She opens her mouth to speak, but the earthbender cuts her off.

“We haven’t met,” she says, extending a hand. “I’m Toph.”

“Nice to meet you,” Zuko says, shaking her hand. “Zuko.”

“Hmm, I’m gonna call you Sparky instead.”

“What?”

“Are you here to teach me firebending?” Aang interrupts. “I’ve got airbending and waterbending down, and I’m basically an earthbending master now.”

“Whoa, hold it Twinkletoes. You’ve still got a ways to go.”

“Aw, come on, Toph. I’m pretty good now!”

“Before this turns into a whole thing,” Sokka says. “Maybe we should come up with a plan? I am assuming our location is going to be compromised soon if Zuko’s crazy sister is after us.”

“Where would we go?” Toph asks. “She’s chased us everywhere. There’s nowhere good to hide where we could still have access to enough dirt to finish Twinkletoes's earthbending training.”

“I might have an idea about that,” Zuko says slowly. “But Hakoda and Chit Sang, you probably shouldn’t know about it so you can have deniability.”

Sokka’s expression dims. It is clear that to be separated from his father so soon after being reunited is tough to swallow, but he clears his throat and soldiers on.

“Alright then. We get one night to rest and celebrate and then we split up. Sound good?”

The group agrees and spends the rest of the evening swapping stories. Sokka dominates most of the conversation — his tales are unquestionably the most entertaining, complete with sound effects — and Zuko lets Suki do most of the retelling of their time together in prison. There is an awkward pause when Aang asks Zuko what happened between the escape from Ba Sing Se and his arrival at Boiling Rock, but Katara swoops in.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” she says gently. “The important thing is we’re together again and you’re safe with us.”

Zuko gives her a weak smile. In truth, he wouldn’t mind telling them the details of his brief time on Azula’s ship and his confrontation with Ozai, but he has a feeling it would bring down the mood. With Hakoda leaving the following morning, Zuko decides it is best to save his tale of fatherly antagonism for another day.

In the morning, Hakoda and Chit Sang fire up the airship once more while the rest of the group loads up Appa for their journey. Suki, Toph, Zuko, and Aang occupy themselves with last-minute preparations to give Hakoda, Sokka, and Katara some privacy. Once they are all aloft, Zuko instructs Aang to steer the bison south.

“Are you sure?” Aang asks anxiously. “We’ll get really close to the Fire Nation.”

“That’s where we’re going.”

“ _What?_ ” The rest of the group stares at Zuko in horror.

“Ember Island,” Zuko clarifies. “The Royal Family has a house there. It’s been unoccupied since… well, since my mother disappeared. Azula will never look for us there.”

“Hiding right under her nose. It’s genius!” Sokka cries, delighted. “Great plan, Zuko.”

“Appa, yip yip!”

It takes a few hours, as Sokka insists on flying a convoluted route just in case. Zuko does not mind this; flying at this altitude is rather chilly, and Katara presses herself into his side to stay warm. As far as Zuko is concerned, they could fly to the South Pole and back before he would want to come down.

They alight on the bluff next to the enormous house where Zuko had once spent many happy summers. It feels like another person’s life, one he had read about in a story. The house is not quite as he remembered; in the years since his family’s last visit, the manor has fallen into slight disrepair. There is an overgrown vegetable garden behind the servant’s quarters and vines creep up the sides of every edifice on the property. The grass reaches up to Zuko’s knees — something he would have loved to play in with Azula as a child.

The first night, they pitch a tent outside and resolve to fix up the house the next day. Zuko finds a groundskeeper’s logbook that indicates someone comes twice a year to attempt to tidy up, but it is clear that whoever is still employed for this task is not straining themselves. Zuko doesn’t blame them; it was not like Ozai was ever going to take a vacation here again. The logbook is helpful, however, in two regards. The first is that they have narrowly missed the grounsdkeeper’s semi-annual visit, and thus had months to hide out in relative safety. The second is that it documents a list of potential problem areas on the property so Zuko and his friends can divide and conquer. Not everyone is eager to clean, but they manage to allot tasks appropriately. Toph is thrilled to be sculpting training grounds, Sokka takes inventory of map room, and Aang is given the important task of tidying the vegetable patch and fruiting trees. Katara, Zuko, and Suki form a battalion to dust, sweep, and mop the house while they air it out during the day. By the next nightfall, they are each settled in their own bedroom and have feasted on a vegetarian smorgasbord.

It is strange for Zuko to be in his childhood bedroom again. Everything is much smaller than he remembers, the colors of his room faded by time and memory. He tries to focus his mind on his upcoming duties — he is determined to start Aang’s firebending training as soon as Toph deems the grounds ready — but for the evening he sits in contemplation. He thinks of his mother, and without realizing it, finds himself standing in the middle of her room. He remembers spending hours in here while his mother read or wrote poetry. Zuko had thought this terribly boring as a child, but he often stayed to avoid his father’s or Azula’s temper tantrums. He would stare at the beautiful tapestry of a flame that adorned the wall, dreaming of the day when he would spark his own fire.

The sound of footsteps at the door turns his head. Katara, holding a basket of laundry, enters, looking around curiously.

“Oh, I thought we found all the bedrooms,” she says.

“This was my mother’s room. My father’s chambers are next door.”

Katara looks confused. 

“How did we not notice these when we were cleaning?”

“I made you guys skip this floor, remember? I said I would handle it.”

“Oh,” Katara says, realization dawning on her face. “If you want to be alone, I can…”

“No, that’s okay,” he says quickly. “It’s not a secret. I just… didn’t really want anyone staying in here. I know that’s selfish of me.”

“No, it’s not,” Katara says gently. “I know it must be hard for you to be back here.”

Zuko can feel a lump in his throat. He nods stiffly, still staring at the tapestry. After a long moment, he turns away to face Katara. Her blue eyes shine in the semi-darkness.

“I’ll be alright, Katara,” he assures her. “I’m just glad I’m with you guys again.”

Katara smiles.

“Me too. I know Aang gets priority training with you, but can we train together tomorrow?”

“You want to?”

“Of course I do! You were the first person I ever practiced with. You should see how your efforts paid off.”

“You mean your efforts,” he corrects with a smile. “I barely taught you anything.”

“You helped me believe in myself,” she says earnestly. “When all of those guys in the North Pole were jerks to me, telling me I would never be able to fight, I would think of you. You always thought I could be a warrior. You did your best to train me when no one else would.”

The lump in Zuko’s throat is back. He thinks of the cave under Ba Sing Se, the soft kiss he pressed to her head. The longing inside him to repeat the action is almost overwhelming. 

Footsteps creak above them as their friends prepare for bed. Zuko clears his throat.

“I would be happy to spar with you tomorrow,” he says shakily. “I want to see all your new moves.”

Katara beams at him.

“I can’t wait.”

—

It takes all of five minutes for Katara to pin Zuko flat on his back. In his defense, he had mentally prepared for a fight, not to see Katara in her training outfit.

The weather in Ember Island is just how Zuko remembers: cool, dewey mornings that heat into sultry, humid afternoons. As such, it helps to dress appropriately. It made sense that Sokka and Katara had long since abandoned their furs, but even the Earth Kingdom dress Katara had been wearing in Ba Sing Se had fully covered her skin. Now, in the heat of the Fire Nation, Katara’s midriff is bare, her tanned, muscled arms and legs exposed to the sun. Zuko tries not to stare, but his eyes are drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Zuko is very glad that Suki has also adopted Fire Nation attire so that Sokka is distracted and doesn’t notice Zuko’s struggle.

After the first takedown, Katara helps him up, smirking. 

“Guess I’ve learned a thing or two, haven’t I?” she asks proudly.

Zuko feels a warmth that has nothing to do with the weather. He strips off his tunic anyway; he has a feeling this fight will heat up. 

This time, it is he who brings Katara down. She blinks up at him, surprised. Zuko extends his hand and she takes it, popping up so quickly she is pressed against his bare chest. The tips of her fingers brush against him.

“Sorry!” they both blurt out, jumping backwards.

Zuko stalks off to his starting position, cursing himself for being so awkward. He looks up to see Katara similarly looking a bit embarrassed and annoyed. Annoyed at him or annoyed at herself? She _had_ been staring at his chest quite a few times in the last challenge — perhaps she was just as distracted by him as he was by her. The thought is dizzying, and he is thankful that Katara lifts her arms, calling water to swirl around her again, so that they can resume their sparring.

When they are finished, Zuko feels an exhilaration he has rarely known. Although he has fond memories of their time ‘training’ together in the South Pole, it had never been like _this_. After their first two rounds, each following bout had them matched blow for blow. More than once, Zuko had let out a bark of delighted laughter. Katara was powerful and creative; she knocked him off his feet more than once. Any time he had the upper hand, she would redouble her efforts, refusing to yield. Zuko knew he should not find fighting quite so arousing, but he had never battled such a beautiful woman before. Even more enticing was the fact that he knew that behind this fearsome warrior was his kind-hearted, compassionate friend. He feels guilty, but he thanks Tui and La that there had been no one worthy in the North Pole for Katara. Zuko isn’t sure he is worthy of such a woman, but he wants to be.

Once the sparring is finished and they have rested and eaten, Sokka insists that he be allowed a sparring match with Zuko. Zuko readily agrees; he has had much more experience combatting Sokka than Katara. Back on the ice of the South Pole, they had often wrestled and practiced swordsmanship to stay hunting fit and to burn off their excess energy. It is different to fight on more solid ground, but it is no less fun. Suki and Toph heckle from the sidelines as Sokka and Such scrap.

“Get him in a headlock!” Toph shouts.

“Who are you rooting for?” Suki asks, amused.

“No one, I just want someone to get stuck in a headlock.”

By the time evening falls, Zuko is physically exhausted, but he can scarcely remember being happier. He volunteers to help Katara with dinner preparations — he is hardly a cook, but he will take any excuse to be near her — and he sits quietly while his friends talk excitedly about their goals.

“Zuko, we’re going to start firebending training tomorrow morning, right?” Aang asks.

“Actually, we can start after dinner if you want.”

“Really? I thought fire was less powerful at night.”

“It is. Beginners usually start in the early morning or evening so they can get the hang of the basics before they move up to bigger flames.”

Aang nods.

“That makes sense. So we can start now?”

“Go ahead,” Katara says, rising to clear the table. “I can take care of the dishes.”

“I’ll help,” Suki volunteers. “Then we can go look through the servant’s quarters again. I think I saw a bunch of scrolls there — might be something fun to read in the pile.”

“I’m going to check on the maps again,” Sokka says with excitement.

Toph says nothing, but she pulls out a slender piece of wood and a knife from a pocket of her tunic.

“Er…”

“What’s the matter, Sparky? Never seen a blind person whittle before?” Toph cracks. “Snoozles taught me.”

“Who?”

“Sokka, duh.”

Zuko has follow-up questions, but Aang is practically bursting to get started, so Zuko lets it drop. He is both horrified and amused to see the tiny earthbender set her dirty feet up on the Royal Family’s dinner table and begin carving, shavings of wood littering the floor beneath her.

“So, where do we start?” Aang says eagerly.

“Breathing.”

Aang looks disappointed.

“But I already know how to meditate really well. And I can make a flame already, look!”

Aang gives him an enthusiastic thumbs-up that gives a little puff of smoke. Zuko raises his good eyebrow. Aang smiles sheepishly.

“Actually,” he amends, “I’ve been having some trouble with fire. I’ve been trying to suppress it for a while, but I can feel it getting stronger. I don’t really _want_ to use it though. I hoped that with you here, I could at least control it a bit better, but honestly, I think fire is bad.”

Zuko tries not to feel insulted by this. He remembers with a knot in his stomach that the Fire Nation had wiped out every last Air Nomad while Aang was stuck in an iceberg.

“Fire can be destructive,” Zuko agrees. “And while it’s not exactly healthy to hold it in, the instinct to be careful with it is good. You don’t want to hurt someone.”

“That’s the problem,” Aang moans. “The whole point of learning this _is_ to hurt someone. People want me to kill the Firelord!”

Aang’s distress seems to grow more with every word. Zuko tries to reassure him.

“I mean, eventually, yeah, you’re probably going to have to do that.”

“Zuko!”

“But not right now!” Zuko tries to correct himself. “And there’s way more stuff you can do with fire than just hurt people. You keep people warm, you cook food, you provide light. Any power can be destructive, Aang. It just depends on what you do with it.”

This seems to calm Aang somewhat. He grins at Zuko.

“That’s very wise. I should call you Sifu.”

Zuko fidgets uncomfortably.

“That’s really not necessary.”

“But you’re going to be my teacher! I should treat you with respect.”

“You already do, Aang. You’ve been respectful of me since we met, even though I, er, threatened you with a knife.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.”

What makes Aang so strange to Zuko is that he completely believes that Aang really _has_ forgotten their rather rough start. Zuko wonders if all Air Nomads were this forgiving, or if Aang had been a special case. Either way, he is grateful. The concept of being forgiven for his past mistakes is quite alien to him.

“Well, I’m still going to call you Sifu,” Aang continues. “And we’re in the Fire Nation now, so I can use some of the cool slang you guys have!”

“We have cool slang?”

“Flameo, Hotman!”

“What.”

Aang ignores Zuko’s look and drums his fingers against his knees.

“My friend Kuzon was a firebender. He did his breathing exercises with a flame. It would go up and down with his breath. It was really cool — can we do that?”

“We will,” Zuko says, nodding his head. “But first we have to just focus on breath. I don’t want you to burn yourself.”

“I haven’t burned myself before,” Aang tells him. “Just Katara that one time.”

“You _burned_ Katara?” Zuko demands, incensed.

“It was an accident!” Aang protests. “I didn’t mean to!”

“But you were careless,” Zuko scolds. “Fire isn’t a toy, Aang. This is why we need to work on control first.”

Aang scuffs his toes against the smooth floor.

“I know,” he says morosely. “I was just trying to impress her.”

“Why?” Zuko asks. 

“I want Katara to like me.”

As someone who himself had a crush on Katara, Zuko understands the desire to impress her. What he did not understand was how Aang could resist the opportunity to show Katara his worth. Aang had yet to offer to help Katara cook or clean. When Katara needed someone to help her hang the laundry, Zuko had been the only one who volunteered. Aang had been busy having a handstand contest with Suki. Aang’s behavior didn’t seem exactly like a crush to Zuko, or at least, it did not manifest itself in the same way Zuko’s feelings had.

“Why do you want her to like you?” Zuko probes.

“Oh, that’s easy! Katara is nice, and pretty, and she’d make a really good girlfriend.”

There is a short pause.

“That’s it?”

“I mean… yeah? What else are you supposed to like about a girl?”

“I don’t know. Katara is smart, and brave, and a crazy good fighter. She isn’t afraid to call people on their shit, but she’s always there to listen when you need someone. She’s stubborn and loves dancing and babies and parties. She gets so angry sometimes, you think she’ll bring a tidal wave down on you, but you know she’d risk anything to help a friend in need. She cares about justice more than anything and she isn’t afraid to go after it.”

“Well, yeah, I guess I like all that stuff, too.”

“She’s her own person. She doesn’t just exist to be someone’s girlfriend.”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Yeah, but you said you like her because you think she’d be good at filling a role in your life, not for who she is. That’s not fair. A person isn’t an idea.”

Aang gives Zuko a strange look.

“Why are we talking about this again?”

“We’re not. Let’s just meditate, okay?”

After ten minutes of silent breathing, Aang slumps over.

“Zuko, this is so _boring_. When do we get to the fun stuff?”

“We have to do the boring stuff first. Fire takes discipline. You’re a monk, Aang. Isn’t this easy for you?”

Aang grumbles a bit and tries again. This time, he only lasts five minutes.

“Argh! You put all these weird thoughts in my head and now I can’t shake them loose.”

Zuko frowns.

“That’s why we have to meditate, Aang. You have to control —”

“Can we take a break so I can fly around for a bit? I want to clear my head.”

Zuko sighs. To be fair, he is also having a bit of trouble concentrating.

“Sure. Let’s just call it a day. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

The next morning, Aang meets Zuko outside bright and early for a meditation session. Aang bows.

“Sifu Hotman, you have given me much to consider.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“I have decided to stop pursuing Katara.”

“Aang, you can like whomever you want. You don’t have to —”

“No, you were right. I like her because I wanted her to like me back. I mean, I _do_ like Katara, but not like you like her.”

Zuko freezes.

“I didn’t say—”

“I thought a lot about what you said,” Aang says, smiling. “When you were talking about Katara, you didn’t just talk about the good stuff. You like her even when she’s stubborn or shouting at you or having a bad day. Don’t get me wrong, Katara is still my friend and I like her a lot. But if she were my girlfriend, all that stuff would bother me. She doesn’t deserve that. She deserves someone who likes her for who she is. She’s a person, not an idea.”

Zuko blinks at Aang, too stunned to even deny his crush on Katara. Aang bows again.

“Thank you for your wisdom, Sifu Hotman.”

“Stop calling me that!”

—

After a week in Ember Island, Katara puts her foot down.

“Zuko, you have to change. You’ve been wearing the same outfit since prison and it’s falling apart.”

This is a bit of an understatement. Zuko’s threadbare clothing has sustained multiple tears during wrestling matches with Sokka and Suki, not to mention a few scorch marks. Everyone else has swapped their clothing for something more incognito. Most of the group had gone to the market to supplement their wardrobe, but Zuko had stayed behind to avoid recognition. All of his old clothing in his room was too small to fit even Toph, so he alone was still wearing his same clothes as before.

“There is plenty of clothing in this house,” Katara continues. “Here.”

She drops an armful of tunics and pants into the table. Zuko’s stomach drops.

“I’m not wearing that,” he says quickly.

“They’re just clothes, Zuko.”

“They’re my dad’s clothes.”

Katara looks horrified.

“Oh! Zuko, I’m sorry. I just found them in a closet with the linens.”

“What’s the big deal?” Toph interjects. She reaches out to grab a tunic from the pile. “This is some quality fabric. I wouldn’t mind wearing this.”

“Go right ahead,” Zuko says. “But I’m not going to.”

“Zuko…”

“I think there’s some extra stuff for the servants in the cellar,” Zuko says. He gives Katara what he hopes is a reassuring look. She nods with a tenuous smile.

“How do I look?” Toph asks. She has shoved the red tunic over her head. It hangs down to her knees, the short sleeves reaching her elbows. “Man, this is some good silk. Can I really wear it?”

Zuko grins.

“You know what?” he says. “I can’t think of a better use for it. Get it nice and dirty, Toph.”

Toph looks elated. Katara tuts that she’ll need to hem it for Toph and Zuko goes off to find something suitable to wear. The servants clothing is much less flashy than the vibrant reds of his father’s closet, but it feels safer this way. Zuko knows it’s silly superstition, but he can’t help but fear that by wearing his father’s clothes, somehow his father’s personality will leech into him. 

A week later, Katara approaches Zuko again with a pile of clothing. Zuko balks.

“My clothes are fine, Katara.”

“I know,” she says quickly. She seems a bit anxious, but Zuko isn’t sure why. She shoves the clothing into his hands. “I just thought you’d like an extra tunic, just in case. I’ve got lessons with Aang now, but let me know if it doesn’t fit.”

She rushes off, leaving Zuko bewildered. What had that been all about?

Zuko has to admit, the fabric Katara had found for this tunic is much better quality than the servant’s uniform he wears. It would be nice to have something less scratchy to change into for evening meditations with Aang. 

Zuko goes to his room to swap his tunic when he notices the seams on the shirt Katara had handed him. He had hoped to see a tiny flame or two — Katara’s old specialty for him when they had lived in the South Pole — but the seams, while neat, are unadorned. He swallows his disappointment. Katara had better things to do than embroider for him.

He unfolds the tunic and inhales sharply. Emblazoned across the chest is an undulating, vibrant flame. Zuko can see at least seven different colors of thread, from bright white to deep red with yellows and oranges and burnt umber in between. He recognizes the inspiration: the tapestry in his mother’s room. He lifts a shaking hand to trace Katara’s handiwork. 

No one has ever given him a gift so precious.

He is slightly ashamed that the first thing he uses the tunic for is to wipe his eyes, before he eagerly tugs it on. He can feel the press of the thread against his chest; he feels like a warrior in ways that he never has before. The urge to find Katara and kiss her, to show her how much he admired her and her gift, is almost overwhelming. He settles for making dinner, being sure to use one of the servant’s aprons to protect his new favorite shirt.

Toph pokes her head in as Zuko is putting the finishing touches on their meal.

“Are we having dinner early tonight? I thought Katara and Aang were still training. Sokka and Suki are off training, too… or whatever. I think they’re making googly eyes at each other. Their heartbeats are all over the place. Yuck.”

“They should all be back soon. I thought it would be nice to have dinner ready for them.” 

Zuko doffs his apron and starts portioning out the meal. Toph smirks.

“You sound happy, Sparky. What’s gotten into you?”

“Something smells good!” Sokka shouts as he enters the house. “Katara, are you making meat?”

“Zuko’s cooking!” Toph shouts. “We might die of spiciness.”

“Hey, I was careful!” Zuko says. “I only made mine spicy.”

“Can you make some of that spicy dip we had the other night?” Sokka asks distantly. “I’m trying to build up my tolerance.”

“Me too!” Suki adds. “It’s really tasty. We’re just not used to it.”

“Yeah, we’ve got to start — whoa, Zuko, cool shirt!”

Sokka has entered the kitchen, Suki trailing behind him. They both stare, impressed, at Zuko’s flame.

“What shirt?” Toph asks.

“Wow, did Katara embroider that?” Suki asks. “It must’ve taken her ages.”

Sokka is shooting Zuko a curious look that he can’t quite comprehend. He is distracted by Toph clawing at his chest.

“Stop moving, Sparky, and let me feel.” She rubs her hand over the fabric, feeling the stitching. “Uh, a blob?”

Sokka snorts.

“Remember how mad Katara got when you said that the first time?” he grins. “And it’s a flame,” he adds to Toph, who is pouting at being teased.

“Hey guys!” Aang shouts from the front door. “Who’s cooking?”

“Zuko!” Suki shouts back. “But don’t worry, he says it’s not too spicy.”

“Oh, good,” Aang says, relieved. “Why are you all in the kitchen — whoa, Zuko! Where’d you get that awesome shirt?”

Zuko looks up to see Katara appear in the doorway behind Aang, looking slightly anxious again.

“Katara made it for me.”

The group turns to look at Katara, who is smiling shyly at Zuko. Sokka turns back to gaze at Zuko with suspicion, but Zuko is too focused on Katara’s smile to pay much attention.

“Cool!” Aang says enthusiastically. “Can you make me one?”

Katara’s smile falters slightly, but she blinks and it returns to full strength.

“Well, I’m not sure how I would embroider air, Aang.”

“Hm, that’s a good point… I’ll try drawing a sketch tonight.”

“You’re not using the back of my maps again!” Sokka says hotly.

There is some prolonged squabbling over writing materials as Zuko carries the food into the dining area. When he goes to fill up glasses with water, Katara joins him in the kitchen.

“Thanks, Katara,” he says softly. He isn’t quite sure how to convey the depth of his gratitude properly. He clenches his fists around the water glasses to keep from doing anything rash, like kissing her.

“You’re welcome,” she says, smiling brightly. “You really like it?”

“It’s incredible.”

“Oh, well,” she says, shy again. “It was nothing.”

“No, it wasn’t. This must have taken you ages. And I know you based it off the painting in my mother’s room.”

Katara flushes once more.

“Oh, yes. I know you didn’t want to wear your father’s clothes, and I couldn’t exactly give you something of your mother’s to wear. I figured this would be pretty close.”

Zuko isn’t sure if it’s possible for a man to swoon, but he feels rather close to it.

“Oh,” he manages. “Well, I really like it. A lot. Really a lot. Thanks.”

Katara’s smile is brighter than the sun.

“You’re welcome, Zuko.”

He sits down to eat, but he can barely taste anything. He is too distracted by thoughts of Katara’s luminous smile.

—

Aside from the looming threat of war, Zuko is actually quite happy in Ember Island. He is reminded of his time in the South Pole, despite the obvious differences in climate. Like in the village, he has a purpose here. He alternates his mornings and afternoons with training sessions; Aang rapidly progresses to using real fire, and Sokka and Suki train with Zuko to keep their blade skills sharp. Occasionally Zuko mixes things up by sparring with Katara or Toph, but he usually rests for a bit before helping Katara prepare meals. It feels good to go to bed each evening knowing that he has helped someone, including himself.

The best part, however, is being around his friends. Zuko remembers a time when it had been enough of a miracle to have two friends. Now he has five. Suki, of course, had become his friend in prison, and it was impossible not to be Aang’s friend. And Katara had been right — Zuko did get along rather well with Toph. He admired her rebellious spirit and she seemed to appreciate that Zuko did not try to baby her. More than once, Zuko forgot that Toph was blind; she seemed delighted by this.

Even though they all get along, they come to an agreement that they spend their evenings without pressure to interact with one another. Occasionally Toph will rope a few of them into playing a game of dice with her — usually a rigged game, so Katara refuses on principle to play — but most evenings are spent in relative solitude. Suki and Katara had unearthed many scrolls from the servants quarters and would often pass their evenings reading, while Sokka preferred to pour over maps again and again. Aang and Zuko would usually meditate, but without the purpose of training. They would change up their activities with some regularity — Katara would embroider, Toph would whittle, Zuko and Sokka would study Fire Nation cookbooks to prepare complicated meat marinades. It was a simple existence, and Zuko relished the relative peace.

In the back of his mind, he knows that the end of the war is drawing ever closer. His friends had explained the information they had uncovered about an impending comet and the Firelord’s plan to exploit its power to finally crush the Earth Kingdom into submission. Only a few months remained to make sure Aang was fully trained, and there were some nights when Zuko would lie awake with worry. It helped in these moments to remember his friends asleep in the house. Whatever happened in the end, they would be a team. Zuko was not prone to trust, but he would lay down his life for any of his friends, and he knew without question that they would do the same for him.

But as much as they all care for each other, friction is inevitable. Most often it is between Katara and Toph, but these spats usually resolve themselves after they are given a few hours to cool down. Katara and Sokka occasionally have sibling squabbles, and even Zuko is not immune to occasional grumpiness with his friends. The biggest dustup, however, is not what Zuko expects.

He emerges from the house one afternoon to train with Sokka and Suki in hand-to-hand combat and finds them already fighting in the ring. He waits to take on the winner, who is almost always Suki. Sokka misses an opportunity and Suki sweeps his legs out, pinning him to the ground. Instead of looking triumphant, she looks annoyed.

“Why do you keep doing that?”

“Doing what?” Sokka asks.

“You moved back when you should move forward. You’ve taken Zuko down three times this week with that move, but you never use it on me. You…”

Suki backs away, a look of horror on her face.

“Sokka, have you been _letting me win_?”

“What? No!” Sokka says unconvincingly.

Suki was usually the peacekeeper in Boiling Rock Prison, but Zuko had seen her get into more than a few fights to reinforce order. He recognizes the dark look on her face and unconsciously hunches into a smaller target.

“All this time,” she hisses, “you’ve been saying you finally get it, that a woman can be a warrior. Was that all a lie?”

“No!” Sokka yells, and this time he speaks with conviction. “Of course not! Suki, I think you’re an amazing fighter.”

“Then why are you letting me win?”

“I… I just don’t want to hurt you.”

“Last week you punched Zuko in the face!”

Zuko grimaces. Thankfully Katara had healed him, and Sokka had apologized for using more force than necessary to take him down. But it was a good point — Sokka was not pulling his punches for anyone but Suki.

“That was accidental,” Sokka says nervously. “Suki, it’s not like that. I know you can handle yourself.”

“Actions speak louder than words, Sokka,” she snarls. “If you think we’re equals, fight me. Right now. No holding back.”

“Suki…”

“Fine!” Suki shouts. “Screw you, Sokka.”

Suki shoves him for good measure and storms off. Sokka stares after her with a miserable expression. Zuko, unsure of what to do, waits awkwardly from his seated position.

“Why are women so complicated?” Sokka grouses, coming to sit next to Zuko.

“I don’t know,” Zuko says. “But I don’t think what Suki wants is complicated.”

“Of course it is! She wants me to fight her, and I don’t want to fight her.”

“You fight me all the time. What’s the difference?”

“Suki is… Suki,” Sokka finishes lamely.

Part of Zuko wants to go fetch Aang or Katara. Clearly this conversation was going to take a turn towards feelings territory, and Zuko felt extremely unequipped. He glances over at Sokka, who looks heartbroken. Zuko might not know how to talk about emotions, but the look on Sokka’s face is familiar. Zuko sighs.

“You know, when I first met Suki in Kyoshi, I found one of your shirts hanging on the laundry line.”

Sokka frowns up at him.

“Oh, yeah. I left one there on accident.”

“Did you guys…?”

“No,” Sokka says quickly, staring back at the dirt. “But I liked her. A lot. She kissed me once.”

“You didn’t kiss her back?”

“We were leaving and there wasn’t time for a big goodbye. We had to keep moving north for Aang and Katara. We stayed for a week to rest and to make sure Appa was well-fed before we flew all the way to the North Pole. I got to train with the Kyoshi Warriors — it was great practice and a lot of fun. Part of me wanted to stay. I had never seen anyone fight like Suki before. She’s amazing.”

A dreamy expression comes over Sokka’s face. Zuko proceeds with caution.

“Well, she obviously kept your shirt. And I think she was wearing it if it was hanging out to dry.”

Far from cheering Sokka up, this news only seems to dishearten him.

“I don’t know what to do, Zuko. I really like her a lot.”

“Why don’t you just tell her that?” Zuko asks, confused.

“Because I’ve got nothing to back it up!” Sokka says, frustrated. “I don’t know how to do this stuff. You’re supposed to try to impress women with your strength and your fighting skills, but how am I supposed to impress her? If you hurt a woman, you can get kicked out of the tribe — how am I supposed to just move past that and hit her like she says I should?”

Zuko sighs and rubs his face.

“Suki isn’t part of the tribe, Sokka. She doesn’t expect you to bring her a moose-elk to court her.”

“Yeah, but I _want_ to. I want to prove myself to her.”

“You already have,” Zuko points out. “You’re a great fighter, Sokka. And you’re smart and she laughs at your jokes. Even the bad ones.”

“All my jokes are gold.”

“Keep telling yourself that, buddy.”

Sokka punches him lightly on the arm and gives a weak grin.

“I guess,” Sokka sighs at length, “that I’ve had it in my head that to be with someone means they need you. Suki doesn’t need anybody.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Zuko agrees. “But I think she _wants_ to be with you. And to be fair, you don’t really _need_ her, either. You and I have learned how to cook for ourselves while we’ve been here. That marinade you made last night was really good! And okay, so you’re not an expert at sewing, but you can fix a sail. You don’t need all that traditional stuff. Just go after what you want.”

Sokka stares at Zuko, wide-eyed.

“Aang was right,” he says finally. “You got really wise while we were gone.”

“Oh, shut up,” Zuko grumbles, embarrassed. “It’s just common sense.”

“Yeah, and since when have you had any of that?”

Zuko goes to tackle Sokka from the side, but he rolls away, leaping to his feet. They square off for a friendly sparring session, jabbing at each other while they talk their usual amount of trash. When they break apart a few minutes later, Sokka looks resolved.

“Okay, I’m going to do it. I’m going to tell Suki I like her.”

“That’s great, Sokka.”

“Thanks for the advice, buddy. Seriously.”

“Anytime.”

Later that evening, the group goes about their separate activities. Katara is engrossed in a scroll, Toph and Aang are inventing increasingly complicated handshakes, and Zuko is brooding over a pai sho board. He wonders what happened to his uncle, and tries again to think of a way to safely communicate with the Order of the White Lotus. He is so lost in his thoughts, he does not notice the strange looks Suki and Sokka are sharing across the room.

“I’m going to go read in my room,” Suki says in a high voice. “Good night.”

“I’ll join you!” Sokka says eagerly. “Not in your room!” he adds as heads turn towards him. “In my room. Reading. Yeah... I’m going to read, too. Alone. In my room. Not with Suki. Okay, bye.”

They quickly leave the room before everyone bursts out laughing.

“Okay, who won the bet?” Toph asks.

“Bet?” Zuko echoes.

“We took a bet on how long it would take for the two of them to admit they liked each other,” Katara explains with a smirk. “I definitely didn’t win. I thought it would take Sokka another two months.”

“I thought he would tell her on accident,” Toph adds. “I had him at a week.”

“I said a month,” Aang crows. “Hah, I finally beat Toph at something!”

Zuko exchanges a grin with Katara across the room. His heartbeat quickens. He wonders what would happen if he told Katara of _his_ feelings.

—

He ruminates over this for the next several days. He is certain of his feelings, but he is unsure how to express them. Sokka had hit upon an important point: courtship was done in a certain way in the Southern Water Tribe. It was all well and good to share your feelings openly with someone from the Earth Kingdom; everyone Zuko had met from there valued simple honesty over all else. Katara may have been an unusual water tribe woman — a warrior, a master bender, the Avatar’s teacher — but she could be traditional in other ways. Perhaps she had certain expectations. How was Zuko supposed to bring her a moose-elk when they were hundreds of miles from the nearest one? The largest thing Zuko could hunt on Ember Island was a racoon-squirrel, and he does not think that would stand up to scrutiny.

More importantly, Zuko is still unsure if Katara reciprocates his feelings. He has caught her staring at him without a shirt more than once, and she does seem to smile at him a lot. But these could be innocent and friendly interactions — it wasn’t like Zuko had spent a lot of time around women before other than Suki, and that had been in prison.

The upside of Suki and Sokka getting together is that Zuko can spend more time with Katara. They already do most of the cooking together, but they start taking evening walks down to the beach while Toph and Aang find games to play. Sometimes they reminisce about life in the South Pole, or share stories of their time apart. Mostly they walk in silence through the surf, breathing in the quiet of night. Zuko teaches Katara the constellations that are too far north for her to have grown up seeing, and she amuses him by inventing stories about them. They walk back up to the house when everyone else is asleep, and as they wander through the halls, Zuko wonders what it would be like to turn left towards her room instead of right towards his.

Zuko keeps his feelings to himself and focuses on his training during the day. As Aang continues to improve, Zuko spends more and more time with him. This leaves Suki and Sokka alone to work on sword skills, and Zuko tries very hard not to make any lewd jokes about which ‘sword’ Sokka is using. Sokka seems deliriously happy all the time, so Zuko doubts if this joke would even land properly.

About two weeks after Suki and Sokka get together, Zuko spends the morning wrestling with Sokka. After a few minutes, Katara appears with a pitcher of water for them.

“Thanks,” Zuko rasps. Katara smiles at him brightly and he accidentally chokes on his water, slopping it all down his front. Katara looks alarmed, but smiles when Zuko, still spluttering, assures her he is fine. She retreats for Aang’s waterbending practice.

“Wow,” Sokka says after Katara has gone. “That was something.”

“What are you talking about?” Zuko asks defensively.

Sokka raises an eyebrow skeptically.

“Really? Are we really doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Wow. Okay, I guess we’re doing this.”

“Sokka,” Zuko growls. “Would you just spit it out?”

Sokka sighs dramatically. Zuko barely suppresses the urge to slug him for sounding so smug.

“Look, I am _only_ doing this because you helped me out with Suki. I don’t normally condone people chasing after my sister, but I know you’re a good guy and you haven’t been creepy to her.”

Zuko’s stomach plummets.

“What?” he stammers. “I wouldn’t… I don’t —”

“Come on, Zuko. You’ve liked her for ages, haven’t you? I didn’t say anything when we were still with the tribe because, well, I sort of figured it had to happen, right? I mean, Katara was the only girl our age for a hundred miles. She was your only option.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Zuko says hotly. “Katara is brave and smart and kind. I didn’t like her just because she was the only girl around.”

“Aha!” Sokka says triumphantly. “So you admit you like her!”

“Fine,” Zuko says, rubbing his face. “I like her. So what?”

“Well, why aren’t you doing anything about it? That’s what you told me to do with Suki.”

“It’s different with Suki,” Zuko explains. “She didn’t expect you to slay a moose-elk for her. Katara probably wants that. And besides, I don’t even know if she likes me. I mean, even if she did, maybe it’s just because I was the only option like you said.”

“Okay, let’s go through this point by point,” Sokka says holding up a finger. “Number one: Katara has seen you hunt down many moose-elk before. Your credentials as a hunter of the Southern Water Tribe are unquestionable.”

Part of Zuko wants to argue that he had never hunted a moose-elk with the express purpose of giving the antlers to Katara as tradition dictated, but he has to admit that Sokka is not entirely off-base.

“Number two,” Sokka continues. “It seems like you remember how men in our tribe court women. But have you forgotten how women court men?”

Zuko thinks back to a cold winter night in the communal yurt.

“Cooking,” he says slowly, wracking his brain. “Sewing stuff for you.”

Sokka gives Zuko’s favorite shirt, carefully folded out of harm’s way for their wrestling match, a pointed look.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” Zuko says quickly. “I needed clothes.”

“Yeah, we all did, but you’re the only one who got a custom thread job. Aang’s been hinting that he wants an air version for weeks and she’s barely worked on it at all. _And_ Katara is trying to learn how to make all that spicy stuff you like even though she can barely eat it.”

Zuko feels a warm sensation in his chest. He thinks back to the night before when he had shown Katara how to prepare the marinade he and Sokka were perfecting. He thinks of their morning breakfasts where Katara always set out a bowl of fire flakes for Zuko to sprinkle onto his food. Could Sokka be right? Was these more than just acts of thoughtful friendship?

“And finally,” Sokka adds. “Even _if_ Katara only liked you in the South Pole because you were the only boy, she’s met a lot of guys since then. Warriors and scholars and I think even Aang liked her at some point, and he’s the freaking Avatar! And she still likes you more than all of them. So what are you waiting for?”

Zuko ponders this. He is afraid, but he’s not sure why. He thinks of his uncle and wishes he could ask for his advice. It would probably be an incomprehensible riddle, or a flowery haiku, but it might make him feel better.

Zuko can feel Sokka staring at him, waiting for an answer. Zuko lets out a long sigh.

“I can’t imagine what life will be like after the comet arrives,” Zuko admits. “Somedays I think we’ll win, and other days I’m sure we don’t have a chance. But whatever I think will happen on that day… I just can’t picture what comes after.”

Sokka nods in understanding.

“I spend all my time looking at those maps, trying to figure out how we can with this war,” Sokka says. “But I can’t imagine what life will be like either. I know things won’t be perfect — there will be a lot to negotiate and so much to rebuild — but I don’t know what my place in it will be. I always thought I’d just go back to the South Pole, help the tribe. But now…”

Sokka stares up at the house. The sound of Toph and Suki laughing drifts across the training grounds.

“The world is going to be different,” Sokka continues. “Hopefully for the better. And sure, you could wait for the perfect moment to tell Katara how you feel, once you’re sure everything can work out between you. But why wait? I mean, on those days you feel like we’re all doomed, don’t you think you’ll regret it if you never tell her?”

“That is… a really good point, Sokka. Damn, where did that come from?”

“I have my moments,” Sokka says proudly. “And honestly, I just want you and Katara to be happy. I think you’d be happier together. But please never, _ever_ tell me any details.”

Zuko rolls his eyes.

“So much for your moment of maturity.”

“Hey, if I wanted to date _your_ sister, would you want me to tell you about it?”

“ _Agni_ , Sokka, why would you even put that image in my head?”

Sokka pulls a face.

“Yeah, I regret that one. Yikes, that is hard to imagine. I pity any man who tries to court her — she’d probably bite his head off.”

“Yeah,” Zuko agrees. “I don’t think she’d appreciate the traditional Fire Nation method. She’d…”

Zuko trails off, an idea catching him by surprise. 

“Sokka, do you want to organize a beach party for today? Or maybe a shopping trip?”

Sokka frowns, confused.

“I thought you said last week we needed to cut back on ‘frivolous nonsense.’”

“I was just mad that you took the last piece of komodo chicken,” Zuko says waving his hand. “There’s something I want to do… could you keep everyone occupied for a few hours? They’ll think I’m just being grumpy back here and you can go without me.”

Sokka smirks.

“Does this mean you’re going to take my advice?”

“Don’t gloat,” Zuko warns.

“Hah! Fine, I’ll do it, but you owe me one.”

“Seriously? After all the times I covered for you when you and Suki went to ‘get supplies’ from the servant’s quarters?”

“Okay, fine, you don’t owe me. But remember, I don’t want any details.”

“I’m not giving you any.”

Sokka grins and claps him on the shoulder. 

“Hey, Aang, Katara!” Sokka shouts. “What do you think of taking your training down to the beach today?”

There is a cheer of excitement and Aang comes bounding over.

“I thought Zuko said no more beach stuff,” he says.

“You guys go without me,” Zuko says avoiding Aang’s gaze. “I’ve got stuff to take care of.”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah, super important, top-secret stuff,” Sokka confirms. “So let’s grab everyone else and go. Bye, Zuko!”

Thankfully, no one asks too many questions and the group hurriedly grabs towels and snacks for an afternoon in the sun.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us?” Katara asks again.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Zuko says, trying to hide his nerves. “Go have fun.”

“I can come back to make dinner in a while.”

“Oh, great!” 

This is perfect for Zuko’s plan. Getting Katara alone would be ideal, but it is usually difficult with their large group. Katara gives him a skeptical look — his enthusiasm is a bit too bright — but she shakes her head and goes out to join the others. Zuko waits until they are out of sight to get to work.

His first stop is the downstairs cellar. The room is crowded with all sorts of materials for the opulent parties his parents had once thrown: spare chairs stacked against the wall, piles of linens and napkins, and crates of candles. Zuko digs around a bit until he finds his target. The crate is filled with decorative vases of all kinds — his mother had insisted on having a set for each season, despite the fact that they rarely visited except in the summer — but it will come in handy today. He picks out the porcelain set with blue flowers. It looks brand new, and Zuko wonders how his mother managed to purchase something that didn’t have any red in it. This mystery is not his focus today, however. Now he has to implement the second phase of his plan.

It takes forever to fill up all the vases, and for once he wishes he could bend water rather than fire. As he accomplishes this task, he sets himself a list of places to search next. He sets the vases carefully in Katara’s room and grabs a large burlap sack on his way outside. He heads out to the bluff where a sea of wildflowers welcomes him. He spends the better part of an hour making his selections, and by the time he returns to the house, his sack is filled to bursting. It takes another hour to sort out his haul into the appropriate bouquets. He dashes out once more to fill up the last few vases, but hurries back before the sun starts to dip in the sky. He wants to be home by the time Katara arrives. As he puts the final touches on his display, he spots her moving through the grass below towards the house. He runs down to greet her.

“Hi,” he says breathlessly. “You’re back early.”

“I don’t want to disturb you if you’re busy,” Katara says. “I left my book up here and I was tired of making sandcastles with Aang and Toph. I can just grab it and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Is your book in your room?”

“Yes…” she says slowly.

“Great. I’ll go get it with you.”

“Okay…”

Zuko follows Katara up the stairs and to the left. His heart pounds as she opens her door.

“Oh!”

An explosion of flowers covers the room. Dozens of vases line the windowsills, the desk, and even the floor. Zuko had kept the windows closed to build up the aroma of the flowers, and it does not disappoint. 

Katara whirls around, eyes wide.

“Did you do this?”

Zuko nods, trying to make himself as tall as possible.

“Why?”

“Because I couldn’t bring you a moose-elk.”

Katara looks confused for a moment and turns to look back at all the flowers.

“When we went to the market last week,” Katara says slowly, “there was a flower vendor. He kept asking Sokka if he wanted to buy some for Suki.”

“Yeah,” Zuko says. “That’s how courtship is done around here.”

Katara’s face brightens.

“You want to court me?”

“Yes. Very much.”

Zuko’s heart is hammering hard in his chest. Katara seizes him by the front of his shirt and pulls him to her.

His mind goes blissfully blank. It’s different from meditating, however. For one thing, he finds it rather difficult to concentrate on breathing; instead his full focus is on the feel of Katara’s lips. Katara hums happily and Zuko’s body seems to know what to do in response. He wraps his arms around her waist, running a hand up her spine. She curves into him with a slight moan and Zuko loses any last thoughts tethering him to the earth. There is no war, no Avatar to train, no destiny to pursue. He is just here with Katara, and that is more than enough.

After a moment, Katara pulls away, giggling.

“Do you mind if I open a window?” she asks. “It’s really warm in here.”

Zuko flushes, remembering himself. He has lost control over his inner flame and heated up the room several degrees. Some of the flowers look a little limp.

“Oh, sorry,” he says quickly. “I, uh…”

But Katara pulls him into another kiss and he is distracted from his thoughts. She moves away and goes to open the windows, leaving Zuko standing dumbstruck in the middle of the room.

“Want to help me with dinner?” Katara asks.

Zuko frowns.

“Now? Dinner time won’t be for hours.”

Katara’s gaze grows heated.

“Well, I figured I should plan for some… distractions during our work.”

“Oh,” Zuko says thickly. “Yeah. That sounds… good.”

Katara laughs, and for once Zuko is not annoyed to be laughed at. There is a rather stupid grin on his face. Katara takes his hand and leads him downstairs.

It takes them three hours to make a salad, but Zuko has never had more fun doing chores in his life.

—

Katara and Zuko discuss briefly whether they should make an announcement about the recent development between them, but the point quickly becomes moot. Aang walks in on them kissing that evening when Zuko volunteers to help Katara dry dishes.

“Hey, Sifu Hotman, do you want to — oh!”

Zuko and Katara pull away from each other with a rather inconspicuous popping sound. Aang bursts into delighted laughter.

“Hah! I win again!”

Katara puts her hands on her hips.

“You put a bet on us, too?”

Sokka comes skidding into the room.

“No fair!” Sokka says. “The bet was on when they’d tell us, not when they’d actually get together.”

“Is this why you told me to tell Katara how I felt about her?” Zuko says, brow furrowed in suspicion.

“You gave Zuko courtship advice?” Katara adds skeptically.

“Hey, I am not the villain here!” Sokka protests. Suki and Toph wander in behind him, wearing identical grins. “I was trying to help you guys out. You can’t honestly tell me you’re mad that I meddled.”

Katara looks ready to argue the point, but Suki intervenes.

“Sokka, why don’t we let them spend some _quality time_ together.”

Sokka makes a retching sound.

“Ugh, Suki, I am not going to let Zuko paw at my sister while I’m under the same roof.”

“Hey!” Katara and Zuko shout.

Suki rolls her eyes and tugs on Sokka’s sleeve.

“Don’t be such an idiot, Sokka. Besides, if you leave now, I can be the one pawing at _you_.”

“Oh, yeah, let’s go do that instead.”

Now it is Katara’s turn to look disgusting. Toph mirrors her sentiments.

“Ugh, the house is going to be shaking all night while _some_ of us are trying to actually sleep. Come on, Aang. Let’s go do something fun while all these lame _couples_ suck faces.”

Aang sends one last amused look their way before leaving with Toph. Katara turns and buries her face in Zuko’s shirt.

“Well, that was mortifying,” she grouses.

“Honestly, I expected worse,” Zuko admits. “And at least it’s over now.”

Katara makes a grumbling noise that Zuko recognizes as meaning ‘you’re right, but I don’t want to admit it.’ He keeps his arms around her, happiness filling his chest.

A long moment passes and the happiness cools and congeals into worry.

“Do you… not want people to know?” he ventures. 

He had not considered that Katara might be embarrassed to be with him. The more he thinks about it, the more sense it makes. He knew he was not exactly handsome with half his face burned off, and he might be a decent fighter, but he certainly was no genius or strongman.

Katara seems to sense his anxiety and she lifts her hand to his face. He tries not to flinch — no one has touched his scar since he was thirteen and still under the brief care of the royal physicians.

“It’s good everyone knows,” she says. “Now I can kiss you whenever I want.”

“Sokka might disagree with you on that one.”

“As if I haven’t had to watch him make out with Suki every time she so much breathes,” Katara huffs. “He can deal with it.”

“Okay,” Zuko says feeling a little less anxious. 

Katara’s eyes gleam with excitement. Zuko can feel his palms start to sweat.

“Speaking of being able to kiss whenever,” she starts. “How about we go back to my room?”

Zuko nods, throat dry. He tries to keep cool as they walk back upstairs, the aroma of the flowers still filling the air. Katara hesitates once they are inside.

“Um, I don’t know what you had in mind,” she says slowly.

“We can just kiss if you want,” Zuko says quickly. “Or I can go to my own room.”

“No! I mean… you can stay. I’d like you to stay.”

“Okay.”

He feels a strange combination of almost overpowering excitement and anxiety. Katara seems to feel the same way, because she keeps giggling nervously when they shift positions to kiss. Zuko feels torn: he never wants to stop touching Katara, but he is starting to feel a bit overwhelmed by the newness of it all. They pause for breath as distant footsteps echo on the stairs.

“Uh, maybe we should go to sleep?” Zuko says. “I have sunrise meditation with Aang in the morning.”

They both settle back onto the bed, and for a moment, Zuko worries that it will be awkward to fall asleep so close to each other. To his surprise, Katara turns to him with a grin.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she admits. “I don’t sleep as well by myself. I’m too used to being next to everyone.”

“Yeah, I guess we used to sleep right next to each other all the time,” he realizes. He thinks of cold nights in the South Pole, when he could barely see Katara’s face peeking out from her fur-lined sleep sack. The thought makes him feel warm and sleepy.

“Yeah,” Katara agrees happily. “I missed it when we were in the North Pole.”

“Because I wasn’t around to keep you warm?”

“Not just that!” she protests. “It just felt nice to look over and see you there, knowing you were safe near me.”

“Oh.” The warm feeling intensifies. “I felt that way, too.”

Katara rolls over for one last chaste kiss. Zuko resists the urge to deepen it, figuring they will have to go to sleep eventually.

“Goodnight, Zuko.”

“Goodnight, Katara.”

Zuko wakes just before sunrise. In the cool dark of the room, he can make out Katara’s face, relaxed in slumber. He watches her for a moment, matching his breath with hers. A sense of calm almost lulls him back to sleep, but his inner fire stirs as the sun’s appearance approaches. He slips quietly out of bed and out to the front of the house. Aang is yawning, but looks happy to see him.

“Wasn’t sure you were going to make it,” Aang says. “Thought you might be… _busy_.”

Zuko scowls at Aang.

“We just talked mostly,” he grumbles.

Aang looks amused, but doesn’t press further. Zuko is grateful. He is, of course, thrilled that Katara returns his feelings, but he isn’t really used to expressing said feelings. He is a bit too tender at the moment to be teased about it.

Once their meditation period is completed, Zuko and Aang silently move through synchronized warmup katas. Most mornings, they pause after this for breakfast, but Zuko senses that Aang might be ready for something new. 

“How about we add some fire?” he suggests.

Aang looks nervous.

“Are you sure? I thought you said I needed to be careful.”

“You will be. But you need confidence, too. You can’t be afraid or ashamed of your fire, Aang. It is a part of you, so let it out.”

Aang nods, looking resolved. Zuko leads him through the katas again, punching out a small, controlled flame with each step. Aang follows suit, his flame a bit larger and more unwieldy. Aang’s brow furrows in concentration, trying to reign in his power. As worried as Aang had been about hurting people with fire, it seemed that he had no problems generating a flame.

Zuko supposes telling Aang to let go of shame is really more of a lesson that applied to himself. After all, Zuko had been like Aang when he was first bending, scarcely able to control the power of his fire. But quickly his fire had diminished as his father’s criticism rained upon him, and the more embarrassment he felt, the smaller his flame became. He had lost confidence in himself and his fire could no longer sustain him. Aang did not have that problem.

Nevertheless, Aang seems to appreciate Zuko’s advice. As he pushes through the final movement, he is practically vibrating with excitement.

“Wow, did you see that?!”

“Yes, Aang. I’m the one who showed you how to do it.”

Aang does not seem to notice the slight sarcasm in Zuko’s voice.

“That was so cool! Can we try it again?”

“Sure,” Zuko says, amused. “But this time, you need to concentrate more on your footwork. You’re still thinking like an airbender. If you’re not fully grounded, you won’t have control. That’s why your flame keeps flickering like that.”

They go through the katas twice more. Zuko knows that for a beginner, this would be more than enough to exhaust someone, but Aang seems even more alert than when they started. 

“What’s next?”

Zuko has to improvise another hour’s worth of lessons for Aang. He really should remember that Aang is not a normal firebender — of course he will learn at a faster pace. Not to mention that Aang is almost a man now, and certainly stronger than any novice bender. 

When they finally break for breakfast, Aang’s enthusiasm reaches an all-time high.

“You should’ve seen it, Katara!” he recounts excitedly. “Zuko had me do the katas with fire this time! It was really hard at first, but it was because my feet were off the ground.”

“See, Twinkletoes,” Toph interjects. “I keep telling you to be more grounded.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t realize it would help for firebending,” Aang continues. “It was awesome! And I was way more controlled than before. Wanna see?”

“Sure, Aang,” Katara says kindly as she places a bowl of cut fruit on the table. She looks up to catch Zuko’s eye and his stomach clenches. His brain buzzes with memories of kissing her, and suddenly he has lost his appetite for breakfast.

“Ugh,” Toph says. “Will you two stop making eyes at each other?”

“How can you…”

Toph taps her feet idly on the floor.

“Your heartbeat gets all screwy when you’re around Sugar Queen, Sparky. Do me a favor and keep it in your pants until Twinkletoes and I leave for practice.”

Both Katara and Zuko let out indignant squawks, but Toph just grins and pops a piece of mango into her mouth. Zuko goes back to his own bowl of fruit — an entire papaya topped with fire flakes, specially made for him by Katara. He fights the urge to grin. How had he not noticed the signs of her attempts at courtship?

The next week is surprisingly smooth. Zuko expects there to be a bit more of a fuss about him and Katara being together, but no one really seems to mind or care. Sokka does tend to send Zuko suspicious looks if he is staring at Katara for to long, but Suki usually distracts him from this. Zuko feels some trepidation around Aang — after all, the monk did have a crush on Katara for a while, even if it was never as strong as Zuko’s — but Aang seems genuinely happy for them.

“You’re way nicer now that Katara is your girlfriend,” Aang says during a morning firebending session.

Zuko scowls. Aang hastens to explain.

“I just meant that you seem happier. And your fire is really big — bigger than when we were fighting Azula in Ba Sing Se.”

“I was pretty heavily concussed at the time, Aang.”

Aang shrugs. Zuko hesitates for a moment, but decides that if anyone would not judge him, it would be Aang.

“I just don’t always feel like I deserve to be with her,” he admits. “She’s amazing and I’m… me.”

“But you’re amazing too, Sifu Hotman!”

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

“No way. I have to show you respect, Sifu Hotman.”

Zuko groans.

“Besides,” Aang continues. “You want to be the best person you can be, right? Helping other people and all that?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s the type of person Katara deserves.”

“But you’re the Avatar,” Zuko says. He winces a bit — he had not quite meant to say this out loud.

“Yeah, but you said Katara is a person, not an idea. She should be with someone who’s a person, too.”

Zuko turns to Aang, alarmed.

“You’re not just an idea, Aang. You’re a person.”

Aang gives Zuko a sad smile, looking much older than his almost-eighteen years.

“Yeah, but to most people, I have to be ‘the Avatar,’” he says, holding his fingers up in quotation marks. “Guru Pathik said to reach the Avatar State, I have to let go of my earthly attachments.”

Something unpleasant squirms in Zuko’s gut.

“That sounds awful,” he admits.

“Yeah, it kind of is,” Aang says with a humorless smile. “But if that’s what I have to do to restore balance, then…”

He trails off with a shrug. Zuko feels anger pooling inside him.

“That’s not fair,” Zuko says. “You should be allowed to have people you care about.”

“I am,” Aang responds. “I just have to let go of the idea that your lives are more sacred than anyone else’s. If I want to really bring about balance, I can’t let my friendships with you guys cloud my judgements.”

“That sounds impossible.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t exactly mastered the Avatar State yet, have I?”

Aang looks down dejectedly at his feet, the fire in his palms dying away. Zuko, unsure of what to say, gives Aang’s shoulder an awkward pat. Aang looks up at him and gives a more genuine smile.

“Thanks for listening, Zuko. It helps.”

“I don’t see how,” Zuko admits. “I feel like I just made things worse.”

“You didn’t,” Aang assure him. “It helps to know that you’ll be my friend even if I have to be ‘the Avatar.’ I’m still just Aang to you.”

“Of course you are,” Zuko says fervently.

“Thanks, Sifu Hotman.”

“Aang…”

“Fine. Thanks, Zuko.”

—

Although the whole group makes progress in their daily training sessions, there are still more than four months to go before the comet arrives, and they cannot possibly spend the entire time sparring with each other. They spend good portions of each day relaxing and recovering. Zuko is reminded of his time resting in the communal hut with Sokka after moose-elk hunts. Zuko himself spends his free time in the large living room where he can read scrolls or lose at dice to Toph. 

One afternoon, Zuko picks up one of the scrolls Katara has been reading. He opens it and begins to idly peruse the opening passage. It appears to be a romance of some kind, not his favorite genre. Still, if Katara likes it, perhaps it was not so bad.

Katara pales when she sees the scroll in his hands.

“Oh, you don’t want to read that,” she says quickly, trying to pry the scroll from him.

“Why not?”

“It’s stupid,” Katara says, blushing. “You won’t like it.”

“You did. Maybe I’ll like it, too.”

“I don’t think so…” Katara says nervously.

Zuko wants to ask more, but Suki strolls into the room, twirling a fan in her hand.

“Hey, Zuko. Sokka wants to know if you’re up for a sparring match. Oh, is that _The Dragon’s Last Dance_? That one was pretty good.”

“Hah!” Zuko says smugly. “Katara doesn’t want me to read it.”

Suki’s brow quirks up.

“Well, the sex in it is a little raunchy, but the rest of the plot is pretty good.”

Katara and Zuko wear matching expressions of absolute mortification. Suki rolls her eyes.

“I thought the Fire Nation was less repressed than the Water Tribe. You guys are the ones with the erotic scrolls, after all.”

Zuko glowers at Suki, but she has a good point. The Fire Nation was certainly much more lax about sex, but Zuko had spent a good portion of his teenage years in the South Pole. He had spent a _lot_ of mental energy actively repressing any sexual thoughts over the years. It had not entirely worked.

“Anyway, that one is way less explicit than _The Western Zephyr_. I have no idea how your servants got a hold of Air Nomad stories, but wow, those guys partied hard. Don’t start with that one, trust me. Anyway, should I tell Sokka you’re too busy to spar?”

“No, I can spar,” Zuko says, rising from his seat. He’s afraid of the excuse Suki will give Sokka if he refuses. Still, he subtly slips the scroll into his pocket as he leaves. He has to admit, he is intrigued.

That night is a full moon, so Katara and Aang have evening practice together. Zuko spends the evening speed-reading through the scroll. It’s fortunately short, and Zuko is able to find the part that he seeks. He is not reading this for pleasure; this is a recon mission.

Zuko’s knowledge of women is extremely limited. There is something primal that guides him with Katara — where to put his lips and hands — but even that has its limits. They have reached a bit of stalemate of grinding against each other until they are both gasping and not entirely satisfied. Zuko suspects Katara might want to go further — she has hinted obliquely at it twice now — but he stalls. He does not know how to proceed; where to touch or how to touch her is a mystery. There must be some more detailed information on what to do, and Zuko sets out to learn how.

Zuko tries to figure out what things described in the scroll Katara would enjoy. The main character is rather sentimental and is constantly writing long sonnets for his love and showering her with affectionate pet names. Would Katara like that? It seemed like something romantic she might like, but Zuko could not picture himself doing it. When he gets to the sexual descriptions in the scroll, he is even more dismayed. The scenes are frustratingly vague. There is apparently a ‘button’ somewhere on a woman’s body that makes her writhe in pleasure, but the scroll gives very little indication as to where it might be. Zuko wishes there were a map; some more precise topography would be appreciated. Reading through the scene leaves Zuko rather frustrated and slightly aroused.

Katara returns from her training looking exhilarated. Zuko remembers in the South Pole how excitable Katara was around the full moon, but the effect is amplified now that she is a master bender. The moonlight glows around her, and Zuko feels his blood rush south. Katara comes to give him a kiss before changing into her night clothes behind a screen. She returns to bed in a silky robe that does nothing to quench Zuko’s thirst for her.

“How was your lesson my, er—” Zuko scans the scroll in his lap quickly —“moonpeach?”

Katara quirks her brows at him.

“What?”

“Uh, I meant… my sea blossom?”

The scroll had used ‘fire lily,’ but Zuko isn’t sure Katara knows what those are. His attempts to translate it only seem to confuse Katara. She spots the scroll and grins at him.

“Are you trying to give me a nickname like in the story?”

“Is that not what you liked about it?”

Katara laughs.

“It’s sweet in the story, but I like it when you say my name.”

“Oh. Is it the poems then?”

“Is that an offer to write poetry for me?”

“Er…”

Katara laughs again and presses a kiss to his lips.

“I know it’s silly. A lot of the romances are so contrived — star crossed lovers and all that — but…” Katara blushes, looking down into her hands. “I just like that the characters are so… passionate. That they would do anything for each other, that they love each other so much. That’s what I like.”

“Oh,” Zuko says, blinking. “But that’s easy.”

Katara looks up at him, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I already feel that way about you. I thought you wanted me to, I don’t know, serenade you or something.”

Katara stares at him.

“Is that really how you feel about me?”

“Of course,” Zuko says honestly. “I’d do anything for you Katara.”

Katara’s eyes flash and then her mouth is on his again. The scroll rolls onto the floor and Zuko moves his hands to Katara’s hips. She swings her legs around to straddle him and Zuko can feel his heart pounding. He moves a hand to her leg, sliding up her robe. Katara does not stop him but instead presses more ardently into him. Zuko knows she must be able to feel how aroused he is, yet she moans and urges his hands higher. She isn’t wearing her wrappings underneath. 

It takes a few tries, and Katara blushingly provides some directions, but Zuko finds the magic button described in the scroll. He is thrilled to find that, as promised, the correct amount of pressure does cause Katara to writhe and come apart in his hands. Even better, after her first climax, Katara grows bold and strips off the rest of the robe. The moonlight paints her in the darkness, and Zuko dares to try another trick in the scroll, placing his lips where his fingers had once been. It is a little clumsy at first, but Katara seems to enjoy this even more, whispering his name and fisting the sheets in her hands. 

“Please, Zuko,” she whispers. 

She leads his hand to her entrance, and Zuko slides a finger into her. He wonders if it is because she is a waterbender that she is so wet. His mind goes blank again, mesmerized by the sight of her panting in the moonlight as he slides his lips over her. She comes with a choked sound, her walls clenched around his soaked finger. He cannot help joining her, overcome by the most powerful lust he has ever felt. He has to awkwardly shuffle off to change his trousers, but Katara insists he returns to her room. She is still naked when he arrives, and he feels his breath stolen away. He cannot imagine ever getting used to the sight. Katara grins at him.

“You’re right,” she says lazily from her prone position.

“What’s that?”

“It is easy. Feeling this way about you.”

Zuko slides down on the bed, rolling to face her. She lifts a hand to caress his face.

“I would do anything for you,” she whispers. “I love you.”

Zuko’s heart swells painfully in his chest. For a moment, his throat is too tight to speak, but Katara does not look upset that he does not immediately reciprocate the sentiment.

“I love you,” he chokes out finally. 

Katara presses forward to kiss him and he shuts his eyes. Contentment settles over him, and they both drift comfortably into sleep.

—

Zuko expects that the psychic weight of the impending comet will cause him to lose sleep, but he actually feels better than he has in months. He spends his days with his mind and body fully engaged in training, and his free time cooking and reading. He gives up on the romance novels and instead immerses himself in political philosophy. It’s not something he would have thought would be interesting, but most of the scrolls are about how to be a strong leader and consolidate power. He can see clearly where his father has taken most of his playbook. If Zuko wants to help dismantle the broken system his father has installed, he figures it would be best to understand it, first.

There is some attempt at democracy in the Fire Nation. A loose parliament is elected by small contingencies around the nation, and serves to advise the Firelord. These elections have long since been perverted to serve the Firelord’s ambitions — strongmen and the Firelord’s cronies fill the seats, and often run unopposed. As a child, Zuko had asked his mother why the people even bothered voting at all; it was clear to him that all of his father’s associates would always win no matter what. His mother had sighed and tried to explain that this might not always be true, but Zuko had not believed her. As long as Ozai was in charge, the democratic underpinnings of the nation were a farce. Reading these scrolls, Zuko can see how the system has been twisted to suit his father’s, grandfather’s, and great-grandfather’s wills. He has to take a break from reading these too frequently — they usually make him rather angry, and he has to sit through extra meditation practices to calm down.

Although Zuko sleeps heavily after most of these long days, there are some restless nights. For the most part, these are highly enjoyable in nature. Katara continues to enjoy perusing the romance novels for fun, and comes up with some very creative ideas that had not occurred to Zuko. Often, they sneak down to the beach together where their sounds are drowned out by the crashing waves.

The first time they are joined, however, is not on the beach. It is on a rare afternoon when neither of them is training and they have the house to themselves. Katara pulls Zuko into her room and they begin their usual dance. After a fortnight, Zuko has become quite skilled in riling Katara up, caressing and pressing her just so. She squirms and moans beneath him, clawing at his tunic. They strip completely — it is easier to access the skin they want to touch and it makes less of a mess — when Katara pauses.

“I learned something in the healing huts of the North Pole,” she says slowly.

Zuko frowns, confused. Katara did not often speak of her time in the North Pole except to complain at how rude all the men were. She had not mentioned much time in healing training beyond fixing up basic scrapes and bruises. Zuko is not sure why she looks nervous, so he sits next to her carefully, feeling a little awkward at his nakedness. Usually they only talk after the main event has already taken place.

“If you want to lie with me… I mean, _really_ lie with me… there are ways I can prevent any… accidents from happening.”

It takes Zuko a minute to realize what she is implying.

“How?”

Katara gives him a wry smile.

“It’s sort of like… the opposite of healing, if that makes sense.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think so. I’ve practiced it, but I’ve never actually had to use it really.”

“Okay.”

“So… do you want to?”

Zuko does not want to sound over-eager — there is a strong primal urge to ignore any risk and ravish his beautiful girlfriend — but he respects that this is not a decision to be taken lightly. He knows full well that if an _accident_ were to occur despite whatever waterbending magic Katara attempts, he would bear full responsibility. The initial thought of having a child is terrifying... and yet he can imagine what it would be like to hold his own child in his arms, having held so many newborns in the Southern Water Tribe. The idea makes him feel oddly emotional, and it tempers the lust that thrums through his veins.

“Yes,” Zuko says at length. “But if you’re not comfortable, I —”

Katara interrupts him with a passionate kiss. Zuko resumes his usual steps for seduction, but he goes more slowly, savoring each sigh. Katara makes a sound of impatience as he kisses his way down to her center, but he just smiles against her skin. As much as Katara pretends to be annoyed by his thoroughness, they both know she loves to be teased like this. It is why they have been spending more and more time at the beach; Zuko is sure her screams of pleasure would wake even the deepest sleeper.

Zuko takes great pride in making Katara climax. The best ones are when he manages to catch her off guard, twitching his fingers at just the right tempo to drive her over the edge. She lies back, panting on the bed, a light sheen of sweat coating her body. Zuko feels fire in his veins.

“I thought we were going to come together,” Katara says once she catches her breath. “With you inside me.”

“I’m not sure I’ll last very long,” Zuko admits. “I never really do.”

This is something that Katara takes pride in; she delights in the speed at which he comes undone after he has finished pleasuring her. Zuko can’t help it — the erotic scene of Katara writhing before him, the very fact that she _wants_ him — is more than the best fantasy he has ever had. While she seems thrilled that it does not take him long to reach his own release, he doubts this will be a bonus when they are actually coupled together. He had not read many of the romance novels, but it had been clear that male stamina was important.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Katara says happily.

“You might,” Zuko mumbles.

Katara lifts her hand to caress his scar. She has taken to doing this when she senses he is stressed, and Zuko must admit that it makes his heart swell happily every time she does it.

“I’m happy as long as I’m with you,” Katara says reassuringly. “And I figure everything we’ve done so far has only gotten better with practice. Remember the first time I took you in my mouth? That was a disaster.”

This was not entirely true in Zuko’s opinion — he had rather enjoyed it — but it was true that neither of them had anticipated the fact that it did create a bit of a mess. But she did have a point — subsequent trysts had been much better for both parties. Zuko relaxes a bit and moves to kiss Katara, lying next to her in the bed.

The kissing starts slow and sweet, but heats as Katara inches towards him. He slides his hand up her side, tracing the curve of her breast. She hums eagerly against him as he rolls her nipple between his fingers. She starts to rut against him, which always drives him crazy. He hopes he can last at least long enough to be inside her first.

Katara finally reaches her breaking point and rolls on top of Zuko. This is his favorite view in the world: Katara’s grin, her breasts swaying above him, her long hair cascading around her shoulders. He did notice that most of the romance novels featured the men on top, but in Zuko’s opinion, they were missing out. What could be better than a beautiful waterbender smiling down at him?

It takes a moment to position themselves properly, but once they are aligned, Katara sinks slowly down onto him. He does his best to stay still — the books had all indicated that this would be painful — but Katara makes no sound. On the contrary, she looks more pensive than pained.

“Are you alright?” he manages to choke out.

“It feels… kind of weird,” Katara admits. “Good weird. Different than your fingers.”

Zuko grits his teeth, trying not to come immediately. 

“How about you?” she asks. “You okay?”

Zuko exhales slowly through his nose.

“You feel amazing,” he says, a hint of wonder in his voice.

Katara beams at him. She slowly rotates her hips forwards and then backwards.

“Oh,” she says dreamily. “I think I’m really going to like this.”

“I won’t last long,” Zuko warns again with a bit of a gasp.

“That’s alright,” Katara says with the same misty expression. “I have a feeling we’re going to be doing this a _lot_.”

Zuko groans. Katara starts to increase the pace and the room seems to tilt. Zuko can feel the fire within himself, roaring with delight. His release is coming, and he has just enough sense to move his hand between himself and Katara, pressing just where she likes it.

“Mmm, Zuko,” she whispers.

Zuko cannot hold back. He gives a strangled grunt before his hips stutter and still. Katara lowers herself flat onto his chest and kisses him lightly.

“That was fun,” she says happily.

“You didn’t…”

“Not this time. But it was still really nice. We can try again after dinner.”

Zuko nods vaguely. He feels like he has had the wind knocked out of him in the best possible way. Katara laughs a bit at his expression and rolls away. She waves her hands and Zuko notices a strange glowing over her stomach that quickly fades.

“Did it work?” he asks.

Katara looks a bit nervous again.

“It should have. But if it didn’t, there are other ways…”

Zuko sits up, the haze of sex evaporating.

“Would you want to do that, though?” he asks. “I heard the women talking about it in the tribe once. I know it’s… frowned upon, even if it is allowed.”

“I mean, I’m not ready to be a mother,” she says, avoiding his gaze. “But if it were yours… I would think twice.”

Blood pounds in Zuko’s head. He blinks, stunned at this omission.

“Really?”

Katara buries her face in her hands.

“I’m not trying to force you into anything. I swear, this technique should prevent —”

“Katara, it’s okay,” Zuko says quickly. “I feel the same way as you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” Zuko says, moving to meet Katara’s eyes. “I don’t think we want to be parents right now, but… I might want to be. Someday. In a really long time.”

Katara grabs Zuko and holds him close. He wraps his arms around her and inhales the salty scent of her hair. 

“I don’t know what’s going to happen to us,” Katara whispers, sounding afraid. “I just got you back, and I could lose you again so soon. We could _all_ lose the war, and then what will happen?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko says. “But I’m glad we’re together now.”

“Me too.”

They lie silent and intertwined as the sun creeps lower in the sky. A loud crashing sound echoes in the distance from Aang and Toph’s earthbending practice. Katara sits up and turns to look at Zuko.

“I guess I sort of ruined our first time with an existential crisis,” she says.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Zuko replies. “And you’ve listened to my existential crises since we became friends, so don’t even worry about it.”

Katara smiles and leans down to kiss him.

“You’re the best boyfriend, Zuko,” she says. His heart lifts.

“You’re the best girlfriend,” he says. “But if we don’t make dinner now, Toph is going to spend the whole evening making dirty jokes at our expense.”

“Hmm,” Katara muses, toying with Zuko’s discarded tunic. “Might be worth it for another round?”

Dinner is served an hour late, and Toph holds court all evening about Katara and Zuko’s private ‘training session.’ Zuko doesn’t mind; he spends the whole night with a smile plastered to his face.

The comet might draw nearer with every hour that passes, but Zuko has discovered that being with Katara can, momentarily, stop time.

—

The season turns, and the training sessions grow even more intense. The imminent arrival of the comet sets everyone on edge: Zuko finds himself snapping at Aang during firebending sessions and hitting Sokka and Suki with a little more force than usual when they spar. He tries to control it, but everyone else seems to be struggling as well. Two weeks dwindles to one, and as the final few days are upon them, most of the communication in the house becomes nonverbal. Everyone seems too nervous to speak. Zuko’s months of decent rest evaporates; his nights are sleepless, but without the benefit of sexual release. He and Katara hold each other desperately, each too anxious to do anything more than offer the most basic of comfort.

One evening, the pressure is too much. Aang is distracted and sloppy with his bending, and Zuko loses his cool.

“No!” he shouts angrily. “Aang, we’ve talked about this. You’ve got to center yourself _before_ the punch. You’re never going to defeat Ozai like that!”

“I’m trying,” Aang grits out.

“Well, try harder!” Zuko snaps. “If you don’t kill the Firelord, we’re all fucked.”

Katara frowns from the sidelines where the rest of the group watches. Zuko can’t tell if it’s the cursing or the harshness of his message that bothers her, but he can’t bring himself to care. In his anxiety, everything annoys him, even Katara’s well-intentioned attempts to smooth things over with Aang.

Aang seems even more distraught by Zuko’s outburst than usual.

“I’m _trying_!” he repeats more fervently. “But I can’t do it!”

“That’s because you’re not centering yourself properly.”

“Well, how am I supposed to do that?” Aang shouts. 

Zuko, surprised by this uncharacteristic anger, raises his eyebrows. This only seems to incense Aang more.

“Everyone keeps trying to get me to kill Firelord Ozai,” he says in distress. “I don’t want to kill him. I don’t want to kill _anybody._ ”

“Aang, he’s the _enemy_ ,” Sokka says, baffled. “You have to take him down.”

“Yeah, if you’re not planning on kill him, then what have we been doing for the past six months?” Suki adds.

“And if you don’t kill him,” Toph interjects, “then he’ll kill a lot of people. He’s planning on burning down the whole Earth Kingdom just to get his way, remember? You have to stop him.”

“I want to stop him,” Aang says miserably. “But not if it means killing him.”

“Aang,” Zuko says, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. “You don’t know him. He won’t stop just because you ask him to. The only way to stop him is to kill him. Trust me, I know.”

Aang looks stricken. He turns to Katara for support.

“I’m sorry, Aang,” she says sadly. “But he’s hurt so many people. I know you don’t want to be a killer, but if you don’t stop him, you become complicit in his crimes.”

“So I just have to be a murderer?” Aang cries. “If I don’t corrupt myself by killing, I’m corrupt anyway?”

“Avatar Kyoshi killed a lot of people,” Suki points out. “The Avatar doesn’t need to be some pure vessel who never gets their hands dirty.”

“But I’m not _just_ the Avatar!” Aang explodes. “I’m your friend! How can you ask me to be someone I’m not?”

An awkward silence falls. Zuko thinks back to his previous conversation with Aang. He wracks his brain for something reassuring to say, but he comes up empty. Aang’s face falls.

“Fine,” he says dully. “I get it.”

“Aang —”

“Save it, Katara. Guru Pathik was right. Balance means I have to give up my earthly attachments.”

Zuko feels a sense of unease at this pronouncement. Aang swirls air underneath him.

“I’m going to sleep down by the beach tonight,” he says stiffly. “Thank you, Sifu Zuko.”

Somehow, the use of his actual name is even more chilling than Aang’s resigned expression. Zuko takes a step to follow Aang, but Sokka holds him back.

“Let him go,” Sokka says quietly. “We’re asking a lot of him.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be,” Zuko replies.

“You said it yourself, Zuko. This is the only way."

Sokka normally has at least a dozen plans to tackle any given problem. If even he admits that this is the only path forward, then Zuko supposes it is a lost cause. Hopefully Zuko can think of something more comforting to tell Aang in the morning.

Morning comes and Aang misses their usual sun salute. Zuko figures Aang needs more time, but he starts to worry when Aang does not make an appearance for breakfast. By midday, the whole group is in a panic. Toph seems most anxious of all — she insists she would feel Aang’s presence through the earth, and yet there is no trace of him.

“I’m telling you guys, he’s not here.”

“Maybe he went to the market?” Katara suggests.

“I would have felt him walk over to the gates to leave.”

“Well, maybe he left really early? Before you were awake?” Sokka tries.

“I didn’t sleep last night,” Toph admits. “Had my feet on the floor the whole time. I would’ve felt him.”

By nightfall, it is clear that they have a problem. They had planned to leave Ember Island to meet up with Water Tribe warriors and White Lotus members. Zuko and Sokka had finally managed to send coded messages out two weeks prior, figuring that even if Azula found them, they had at least trained enough to escape her. It had been a risk, but the reward was that they would meet the rest of the force against the Fire Nation and prepare for battle. But now Aang is gone, and they cannot delay their departure any longer.

“Should one us stay behind in case he comes back?”

“What would be the point? There’s no way you’d even get to the Earth Kingdom without Appa before the Firelord attacked.”

“Maybe he went ahead without us?

“And left Appa behind? No way.”

Zuko sits out of the debate, his head aching from stress. Finally, Sokka stands up and the group quiets.

“We need to stick to the plan,” he says gravely. “We have to hope that wherever Aang is, he will be there when we need him.”

“Yeah, because that worked out great for the past hundred years,” Toph mutters darkly. Sokka glares at her.

“Aang will be there when we need him,” he restates more firmly. “And we need to do our duties, too. Even if Aang were here, he couldn’t take down the Fire Nation all on his own. That’s where we come in. We’ve trained for this. It’s our fight, too. And it’s time to go.”

Zuko and the rest of the group exchange nervous looks.

“I guess we’re doing this,” Toph says finally.

“Yes,” Suki says resolutely. “We’re going.”

Katara’s expression is sad, but her voice is strong.

“Lead the way, Sokka.”

They climb aboard the bison using the cover of night to hide their departure. Most of the group huddles around Zuko for warmth, and for the first time in days, he feels a slight easing of his anxiety. Sokka stays at the helm, guiding Appa through the moonless night.

By the time they land many hours later, they are exhausted and a little dehydrated, but there is a small ray of hope. Katara and Sokka are eager to be reunited with their father again, and Zuko wants to know what happened to his uncle. He presumes Iroh is safe — there had been no word abut a new Grandmaster of the Order of the White Lotus, so Zuko assumes this is good news — but he feels some trepidation at seeing him again. It still stings that his uncle escaped without him.

Hakoda and his men are in the middle of training exercises, so Katara and Sokka hang back to help the rest of the group set up in the camp. Zuko asks around and finds that his uncle is indeed safe and is only a few tents away. Katara slides her hand in his and walks him to see his uncle. Zuko’s stomach clenches painfully, but it helps when Katara gives his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“He’ll be happy to see you, Zuko,” she says quietly.

“I should introduce you,” Zuko rasps. “He’d like to meet you.”

Katara smiles and nudges Zuko towards the tent.

“Why don’t you get reacquainted first? You know where to find me.”

Zuko nods stiffly and pulls back the tent flap. He almost bursts out laughing; his uncle is sound asleep, snoring softly. 

Zuko does not have to wait long for his uncle to wake. A nearby rumbling that Zuko assumes is Toph putting up a rock tent shakes the ground, and Iroh stirs.

“Uncle?”

Iroh sits up so fast that Zuko takes a step back.

“Nephew! Oh, my dear Zuko!” Iroh rises quickly and pulls Zuko into a tight hug. “I was so worried about you, nephew.”

“I’m fine, uncle,” Zuko says thickly. There are tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. It feels good to know he was missed.

Iroh pulls away, shaking his head.

“I should have come to find you myself that night,” he says sadly. “I trusted others to do what I should have done. I regret that you were placed in harm’s way.”

“What others?” Zuko asks, perplexed.

Iroh fixes him with a curious stare.

“The men I sent to help you escape. They said you wanted to return home.”

Zuko thinks back to his time on Azula’s ship. His memories are hazy from the concussion, but he does remember the strange night with the guards who tried to get him up.

“Oh… when I said home, I meant the South Pole,” Zuko says faintly. “I thought they were Fire Nation guards.”

“They were meant to look like it,” Iroh nods. “By the time we had escaped from the ship, I realized they had failed to bring you along. They were adamant that you had said you wanted to return, and as much as I wanted to turn around to rescue you, I feared that I would only put you in more danger. I am sorry, nephew, that I failed you again in this way.”

“You didn’t fail me,” Zuko says earnestly. “And it was actually okay in the end. Ozai sent me to Boiling Rock.”

Iroh pales.

“I had heard you were there,” Iroh whispers. “Nephew, to be trapped in such a place…”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Zuko says, trying to calm his uncle. “My friend Suki was there. The leader of the Kyoshi Warriors — she had my back.”

Iroh’s concern transforms into a slight smile.

“You made friends with this woman?”

“Yes. And most of the prisoners were anti-Ozai anyway, so even though they didn’t _like_ me, at least they left me alone. Then we escaped with Chief Hakoda.”

“Ah, yes,” Iroh says. “I have spoken with him over the last few weeks. An admirable man. He did tell me how you and the Kyoshi warrior helped him escape. I had not realized you had become friends.”

“Yeah, she’s here now. So are Katara and Sokka and Toph — she’s the earthbender.”

“And the Avatar?”

Zuko’s face falls.

“Uncle, Aang is missing.”

He quickly recounts the argument that preceded Aang’s disappearance. Iroh’s brow furrows.

“This is worrying,” Iroh says when Zuko finishes. “But we must hold out hope that the Avatar will find his way. The spirits will guide him, and they often work in mysterious ways.”

Zuko wants to argue with this, but his uncle might be right. Zuko has found that his life has improved once he started offering thanks to Tui and La along with Agni. Aang had spoken about the spirit world before, and apparently spirits were real. Who was to say that Aang would not be guided by them? Still, Zuko wishes there was more tangible evidence that Aang would return in time for battle.

“We must be patient, nephew,” Iroh says evenly. “I find that tea helps pass the time.”

Zuko represses a smirk. He had missed his uncle.

“Would you like to meet my friends?” Zuko offers. “I know you say tea is always better shared.”

“Nephew, I would be delighted!” Iroh says, beaming. “Come, let us welcome them to our camp.”

Iroh gathers a teapot and carefully selects the right blend of leaves. Zuko grabs an assortment of cups — how his uncle manages to tote them around the world on his White Lotus missions, Zuko has no idea — and follows his uncle to Toph’s new rock tents.

“Toph, this is my uncle,” Zuko says. “Uncle, this is Toph, Aang’s earthbending teacher.”

“Master Toph, it is a great honor to meet you,” Iroh says with a bow.

Toph grins.

“I like this guy,” Toph says to Zuko. “Good to know you’ve got one sane family member, Sparky.”

Iroh looks thrilled to learn that Zuko has a silly nickname. Zuko tries not to be too embarrassed as he introduces the rest of his friends — Iroh fawns over Suki for protecting Zuko in prison, Sokka for his renowned tactical brilliance, and Katara for her bravery in the caves of Ba Sing Se. Zuko’s friends look deeply flattered by Iroh’s attentions and impressed by the quality of his tea. Zuko feels a great sense of relief. He had assumed that Iroh would approve of his friends, but it feels good to have confirmation. 

Once the tea is finished, Katara and Sokka rise to go see their father. Katara kisses Zuko lightly on the cheek.

“Come find us when you’re done,” she says. “I’m sure Dad wants to see you, too.”

Zuko helps Iroh bring the tea materials back to his tent, bracing himself for his uncle’s questions.

“Lady Katara seems like a wonderful young woman,” Iroh says slyly. “Am I correct to assume you are together?”

“Yes,” Zuko says with as much confidence as he can muster.

“That is excellent news, nephew. I am very happy for you.”

There is a pause as Zuko puts away leftover tea leaves.

“That’s it? I thought you’d have all sorts of questions.”

“Would you like me to ask questions?”

“No!”

Iroh gives a light chuckle.

“What is important to me,” Iroh says gently, “is that you are happy. Katara makes you happy, yes?”

“Yes. Very much.”

“Good. You may tell me whatever you like about your relationship with Lady Katara, but I know you do not like it when I pry.”

“That’s never stopped you before,” Zuko points out.

“Yes, but I would pry if I feared you were on the wrong path,” Iroh says with a distant smile. “But I believe you have found your path, nephew. You have been on it for some time now. I am very proud of you.”

Zuko swallows thickly. 

“Thank you, uncle."

Iroh smiles serenely.

“I must speak with some of the members of the White Lotus,” Iroh says. “And I believe your presence is required with the Southern Water Tribe warriors. Many of them spoke highly of you, you know.”

“They did?”

“Yes,” Iroh says, his lips twitching in amusement. “Although usually it was to pass on the compliments of their wives and children. It seems the tribe misses their favorite firebender.”

Iroh laughs as Zuko turns red. He claps a hand on Zuko’s shoulder.

“Go, be with your friends.”

Zuko smiles and sets off. Even if Aang is gone, it is at least a comfort to know that most of the people he loves and trusts the most are right here with him.

—

There is time enough for a few last sparring sessions between war meetings, but there is still no sign of Aang. The mood in the camp is grim, but resolute. Most people seem to think that they don’t stand a real chance without the Avatar, but they are determined to try nevertheless. It is strange to think that they might all be dead in a few day’s time.

Despite the gloom that hangs over them, there are some strange moments of beauty and compassion. In the evenings, they gather to tell stories from around the globe and to share in their varied cuisine. There is laughter and friendship even in the darkest moments. When Zuko isn’t busy in strategy meetings or training, he spends his time glued to his friends. At night, he retires to the simple rock tent Toph has made for him and Katara. When he tries to thank her for this thoughtful gesture, Toph waves him off.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says absently. “Just wait to get frisky after I’m asleep, okay? I want you guys to be happy and all that, but I don’t want to have to hear it.”

Zuko splutters a bit, but Toph just gives him a grin and a punch on the arm. 

In the final hours before the comet’s approach, the last decisions are made. Sokka, who has helped lead as much as Grandmaster Iroh and Chief Hakoda, turns solemnly to Zuko at the final war meeting.

“You have to go back to the Fire Nation, Zuko.”

“I can fight Ozai,” he insists. “If Aang isn’t here to take him down, someone has to. I can do it. I volunteer.”

“I know,” Sokka says. “But we’ve just gotten word that Ozai has named himself Phoenix King. That means he’s not the Firelord anymore, which means…”

“Azula is going to be crowned,” Zuko finishes. “What are the reports about her? Isn’t she still looking for Aang?”

“Princess Azula abandoned her search for the Avatar after your prison escape,” Iroh says in a slightly pained voice. “The rumor is this was not her choice — Ozai felt that she had failed too many times to be set loose again.”

“But he’s going to let her be the Firelord?” Zuko asks, confused.

“As the Phoenix King, it would be Ozai who still holds power over her and the Fire Nation, along with the Earth Kingdom territory he plans to capture,” Iroh explains. “The title would be a formality. But should Ozai fall tomorrow, Azula might still be named Firelord.”

“That would be a problem,” Hakoda adds. “We would have to negotiate peace with her, and I don’t think she’d be very amenable to it. It would prolong the war, and we would have to overthrow another Firelord.”

Zuko mulls this over. As much as the people seemed to resent his family’s power, having foreigners overthrow a newly-crowed Azula would certainly be a tough pill for the Fire Nation to swallow. Zuko nods, resigned.

“I can try to stop her,” Zuko says slowly. “But I might need backup. She’s a stronger bender than me, and she won’t give up the crown easily.”

“I volunteer,” Katara says quickly.

Zuko shoots her a look of alarm. He trusts Katara with his life, of course, and she is an equal match for Azula’s raw strength. But Zuko knows that Katara would also be a weak point for him. If Azula managed to get the upper hand and threaten Katara’s life, Zuko would be powerless.

The war committee at large, however, seems to find this acceptable and they nod. Sokka bows his head in acceptance.

“Okay. Zuko and Katara will deal with Azula — you can take Appa to get there. We want him far away from the war balloons so he doesn’t panic. The rest of you know your positions for tomorrow. Let’s pause for lunch and then we can make sure the armory is in order.”

The members of around the table rise and break off into groups of conversation. Suki makes her way around the table to Zuko and Katara.

“You can do this,” she says fiercely. “You outsmarted her at Boiling Rock, and you can do it again. The people are on your side, Zuko.”

“Thanks, Suki,” Zuko says, touched by her fervor. “Look out for Sokka for us, okay?”

Suki steps forward to give Zuko a bone-crushing hug. Not for the first time, he is very glad Suki is his friend and not his enemy. She is a formidable opponent, with or without the fearsome Kyoshi facepaint.

“Bye, Sparky,” Toph says glumly.

Zuko’s heart twists. In many ways, Toph reminded him of Azula — a prodigy who relied on herself, a powerful young woman who had grown up under stifling circumstances — but Toph had had the great advantage of making friends with people who trusted and loved her. Zuko pulls Toph into a hug, wishing that he had been able to do this for Azula, too.

“Be safe, Toph,” he whispers.

“You too,” she whispers back.

Suki and Toph exchange their goodbyes with Katara while Zuko bows to his uncle.

“Follow your path, Zuko,” Iroh says. “You will find your way. I trust in you.”

“Thank you, uncle, for everything you’ve done for me,” Zuko says, his throat tight.

“It is I who should thank you, Zuko,” Iroh says with a soft smile. “You have shone light into the world. May Agni light your fire always.”

Iroh and Zuko exchange one last traditional bow before Hakoda appears at Zuko’s shoulder.

“Good luck, my son,” Hakoda says, shaking his hand. “You will bring peace to the Southern Water Tribe at last. Our people are with you.”

The mirroring of this statement with Suki’s shocks Zuko. It is bizarre to think that the people of the Fire Nation and people of the Southern Water Tribe, at war for a hundred years, might want the same thing. It is stranger still to think that he, Zuko, might hold a key to achieving it. The thought makes Zuko feel slightly sick with anxiety.

“You are a warrior, my son,” Hakoda continues. “I know you will do what is needed.”

Zuko bows, his throat too tight to speak. Hakoda returns the bow and goes to say goodbye to Katara. Zuko has a feeling that conversation might be a little rocky; Hakoda may have agreed that Katara was the right person to help Zuko bring down Azula, but he had certainly not looked very pleased about it.

Sokka trudges over slowly, dragging his feet. Zuko does not blame him. A part of him does not want to say goodbye to Sokka — it will make the final stage of the war all too real. He has long imagined what the final reckoning would look like and had always assumed Sokka would be by his side, boomerang in hand. 

Sokka nods stiffly to Zuko. They both stand awkwardly before speaking at the same time.

“You —”

“I —”

They share pained grins. Sokka sighs.

“I suppose I should tell you to look out for Katara, but I know she can handle herself.”

“I know. But you know I’d die before I let anything happen to her, right?”

“I know,” Sokka says with a rueful smile. “You should look out for yourself, too, Zuko. I’m gonna need your help to take down moose-elk in the future.”

“Yeah,” Zuko says, feeling tears sting at his eyes. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“Look, I know you’re in the vanguard tomorrow,” Zuko says quickly. “But don’t do anything stupid, okay? People around here need you. You’re our plan guy, and we’ve got no idea what to do next. So… don’t die, okay?”

Sokka grins.

“Deal. You don’t get to die either.”

“Deal.”

Their embrace feels more like a wrestling match than a hug, each trying to squeeze the other as hard as possible. Zuko wishes he could convey just how much it has meant to him to have Sokka by his side, the brother he never had. When he pulls away, he thinks that perhaps he might have done it — Sokka’s eyes are rather red and watery. They both cough and exchange stiff nods before Sokka strides over to Katara.

Zuko readies Appa, and soon the time comes to depart. He boosts Katara up into Appa’s saddle and climbs up after her. With a last wave to their friends and family below, they take flight. Only then does Katara cry. Zuko, unable to stop himself, joins her, and they spend the entire ascension into the clouds sobbing.

The cold wind dries their tears as Appa soars through the clouds. Katara leans into Zuko’s arms as mist swirls around them.

“We’ll see them again,” Katara says finally. “I have hope.”

Zuko smiles against Katara’s hair.

“I know you do,” Zuko says. “It gives me hope, too.”

Katara pulls away and gives Zuko a sad smile.

“What are we going to do about Azula? I know you said she won’t give up easily…”

“We don’t have to kill her,” Zuko says quickly. “At least, I hope not. She doesn’t deserve to die. But it’s true — she’s not going to give up without a fight. If we can just keep her distracted long enough for Ozai to fall, then the Fire Nation will be without a Firelord.”

While in the training camp, Zuko had spent many hours trying to get up to speed on the atmosphere amongst Fire Nation civilians. It seemed that anti-Ozai sentiment had only increased in the year since Zuko had traveled through the Fire Nation himself, with many townships in clear defiance of Fire Nation decrees. Several had stopped sending young people for conscription, or had barricaded their small islands to prevent Fire Nation tax collectors from entering. Even in the capital there were rumblings of protest. Zuko was amused to learn that one of the most outspoken voices was Chit Sang, who had managed to mount prison breaks all over the country to release more rebels. There was a large bounty on his head, and yet the rumor was that he was hiding out in the capital, waiting for the moment for his rebels to help overthrown the tyrannous Firelord. Zuko supposed that time had come. If the people rose up as Ozai was deposed, there could be a new political system put in place, one that valued the voice of the people and peace. Zuko was certainly on board, but convincing Azula was probably a lost cause. The best solution would be to take her out of the game; Zuko just hoped he could do it without harming her too much.

“One problem,” Katara points out. “Assuming Ozai _is_ killed, it will take a messenger hawk two days before the news arrives. We can’t fight Azula for two days. At some point, she’d probably just grab the crown, put it on her head, and call it day.”

Zuko ponders this. Katara stares at him and pales.

“Zuko… are you going to take the crown?”

“What? No!” he says quickly. “I don’t want to be Firelord.”

Katara lets out a sigh. Zuko gives her an evaluating look.

“You seem relieved,” he says slowly.

Katara blushes.

“Well, it’s not that I don’t think you’d be good at it,” she mumbles. “It’s just… if you were the Firelord, you’d probably have to marry a firebender eventually, right?”

Zuko feels his pulse quicken.

“Oh. Uh, not necessarily.”

“Well, people probably wouldn’t like it if you were with a waterbender.”

“I’m not going to be the Firelord, Katara,” Zuko says more firmly. “I think it’s time for the people to be heard.”

“That makes sense,” Katara says, nodding. 

She avoids his gaze to stare at Appa’s fluffy head. Zuko threads his hand in hers.

“You’re right though,” he says quietly. “People might not like to have a waterbender in an important traditional role. I think it’s stupid — you would be a great Firelady, actually — but I wouldn’t want to ask you to do that. I think we’re better the way we are. Just Zuko. Just Katara.”

Katara turns to stare at him with wide eyes. Her face breaks into a grin and she pulls him into a kiss.

“Just Zuko,” she repeats in a whisper. “That’s how I like you.”

“It seems a little stupid for me to say you’re ‘just’ Katara,” he admits. “You’re much more than that.”

“Maybe,” she agrees with a laugh. “But that’s not why you like me, is it?”

“No,” he agrees. “I like you just as Katara.”

“Good.”

Her kiss lifts him higher than Appa ever could.

—

Zuko can feel the comet’s approach as Appa descends towards the Fire Nation capital. Fire thrums through him, warring with his attempts to stay calm. He needs a clear head to fight Azula. Katara keeps her hand in his even as his palms sweat. She grounds him even as they sail through the low clouds.

Appa starts to panic as they approach the ground. Firebenders below celebrate the arrival of the comet with bursts of flame, which frighten the bison. As soon as they touch down, Katara sends Appa back up into the sky. He does not hesitate, rapidly shrinking from view.

Zuko thinks of the last time he had marched through the city in chains, how people had gawked at him then. This time as he races through the streets, people catch sight of him and shout.

“Prince Zuko has returned!”

Zuko had wanted to keep a low profile, but decides that perhaps he can use this to his advantage. He remembers the scrolls his father had kept in Ember Island; perhaps a little show could be useful. He spots a young man who is eyeing him warily. Zuko recognizes the small symbol embroidered on his sleeve — a mimic of a prison tattoo preferred by rebels.

“Where is Chit Sang?” he asks.

The man looks alarmed and tries to protest, but Katara interrupts.

“We’re here to overthrow Princess Azula before her coronation.”

The man looks more even more amazed but nods.

“This way.”

They weave through the city streets, heads turning as they race to keep up. Zuko expects to find Chit Sang deep in hiding, but instead he finds him leading a small battalion of civilians.

“Down with the Firelord!” Chit Sang bellows. “Power to the people!”

The civilians raise their fists in the sky — Zuko notices that some of them hold signs of protest — and chant after Chit Sang. A member of the crowd spots him first.

“Prince Zuko!” she cries.

The sentiment of the crowd is mixed. Some seem excited to see their former crown prince, while others look suspicious.

“We’re on your side,” Zuko is quick to assure. “And we need your help. We’re going to take down Azula. You’re going to need to organize a demonstration outside the gates.”

Chit Sang grins.

“Good to see you again,” he says in his gravelly voice. “We were planning on instituting the old democratic ways before the coronation. If you’re willing to take down that crazy sister of yours…”

“I am,” Zuko says.

“Well, you better hurry,” Chit Sang says. “Word has it she’s set for it to happen at noon.”

With one last nod, Zuko and Katara take off, racing towards the palace. The protestors surge off, amassing huge numbers as they move through the streets. Zuko and Katara wait at a side gate where there are fewer guards. As the crowd outside the main gate grows, more and more guards move to join them to enforce order. When only two guards are left, Katara and Zuko strike: Sneak Attack Plan Five. The guards crumple to the ground and Zuko and Katara steal inside.

The coronation is set to take place on the ceremonial platform directly in front of the main gates. Traditionally, the gates are held open so that people can come and cheer as the new Firelord ascends to their glorious birthright, but there is no such cheering today. The sound of the protestors is deafening, and Zuko can see the royal guards straining to keep the people from storming inside. A small group of nervous-looking Fire Sages stand on the platform as Azula paces. They seem to be waiting for noon — the most auspicious time to be crowned — but Zuko knows that he must act fast. If the crowd outside grows any larger, he knows Azula will not hesitate to overrule the Fire Sage traditions.

He steps onto the platform, Katara close behind him. Azula catches sight of him and freezes, her eyes narrowed. Zuko is shocked by her appearance. Her ceremonial robes hang from her thin frame, and there are dark circles under her eyes. Her skin is gaunt and her expression wild.

“Prince Zuko!” squeaks one of the Fire Sages. “Have you come to contest Princess Azula’s right to the throne?”

“I have.”

“You have no right!” Azula spits. “You are not worthy of the throne!”

“Neither are you,” Zuko says angrily. “Look around, Azula. Our father and our ancestors have dragged our nation into war and suffering for their own glory. Look at those people out there. They don’t want this, Azula. They don’t want us.”

“You’ve gone soft, Zuzu. The people don’t know what they want. What they _need_ is a strong Firelord. Someone to show them their place.”

“What do you think Father has been trying to do for the past ten years? Stop this, Azula. We can end it right now. Give the power back to the people.”

“Coward,” Azula hisses. “You don’t have the guts to take me down yourself, do you?”

“I’ll stop you if I have to,” Zuko says. “But I don’t want to hurt you, Azula.”

“Hah!” Azula mocks. “As if you could! Let’s settle this, once and for all. Agni Kai!”

Zuko hears Katara gasp behind him. This had not been the plan, but…

“I accept.”

The Fire Sages spring into action and Azula smirks. Katara rushes to tug on Zuko’s sleeve.

“What are you doing?” Katara whispers angrily. “We’re a team, remember?”

“I know,” Zuko says urgently. “But I can do this, Katara. She’s not on her game. If I can win this fight, she has to back down. We won’t have to hold her off for long.”

“Zuko…”

Zuko moves forward to press an impulsive kiss to Katara’s lips. The comet blazes above them, and he feels a surge of power. He can do anything in the world with fire in his blood and Katara at his side.

Katara squares her shoulders as she steps away. The Fire Sages have set the boundaries of the platform to create a makeshift Agni Kai ring. The crowd outside the gates grows louder still. Zuko wonders if they know what is about to take place.

Azula is smirking at him, casting a sidelong look at Katara.

“You should say goodbye to your girlfriend, Zuzu. She’s going to spend the rest of her life in prison after I kill you. Or maybe I’ll have her beheaded. You know, remind your precious _people_ how much their lives are worth.”

“I don’t want to kill you Azula. But I will if you make me.”

“I’m sorry it had to end this way, brother,” she simpers.

“No, you’re not.”

A feral grin steals over Azula’s face before she fires the first shot. The fight is on.

The comet’s effect seems to be doubled for Azula. Her fire, already the hottest blue, rages uncontrollably. Her attack immediately sets Zuko on the defensive, but he does not panic. Through the flames, Zuko can see Azula’s face contorted in rage and fear. Fire like this cannot be contained; even she will get burned if she cannot reign it in.

Zuko fires back, his own flames just as large — if not quite as hot — as Azula’s. A wall of orange collides with her blue flames, shooting tens of feet into the air. The crowd of protestors falls eerily silent, watching the battle from a distance. Zuko tries not to focus on this. One misstep and Azula will burn him alive.

The fight rages, fire clashing in the center of the ring. Azula attempts to circle Zuko for a more advantageous position, but there is none: they are on equal ground and the sun is directly overhead. Her obvious frustration mounts. He can barely repel the strength of her fire, but her aim becomes erratic. More than once, he hardly has to deflect at all. Azula is panting, looking more frightened than ever, but Zuko stands tall. His months of training have given him strength and stamina, and the longer the fight drags on, the better chance he has to win. He kicks a vicious whip at her — one he had invented with Katara well before she was a master — and it strikes Azula across the chest. She stumbles and falls backwards, winded by the fire.

The comet is at full strength. His blood feels like lava within him, the heady rush of power pushing him to tempt fate. He knows Azula’s lightning is not to be trifled with, but the confidence he feels drives him forward.

“What’s wrong Azula?” he taunts. “No lightning today?”

Azula grimaces and springs to her feet. Her arm poises to strike, and Zuko sinks into position. He can redirect the lightning towards Azula and take her out once and for all. He can end this; he feels prepared for anything.

He is not prepared.

At the last moment, Azula’s cruel expression turns away from Zuko and towards the sidelines, towards Katara. Zuko’s mouth drops in horror.

Lightning crackles at Azula’s fingertips as Zuko races to Katara, who is paralyzed in fear. A bolt of white hot electricity sizzles through the air, and Zuko reaches it just before it strikes Katara. He puts his arm up to deflect it, but his feet are not fully planted on the ground. The lightning rips through him, and his scream of pain echoes through the silence.

He falls to the ground, twitching uncontrollably. The pain is overwhelming, and it takes everything in his power not to scream again. Katara’s terrified face appears before him.

“Zuko!” she cries. “Zuko, stay with me. You’re going to be alright. I’m going to heal you. I —”

“Stop. Azula,” he rasps. He fears death, but he fears Azula more. She will not hesitate to make good on her threat; if she wins, she will kill Katara. Zuko cannot bear to think of it.

He hears Azula’s voice, but it is muffled as the adrenaline from the fight starts to ebb away. Katara’s expression looks murderous as she eyes Azula. She squeezes Zuko’s hand once and rises to fight.

His body continues to spasm in pain as Katara sweeps forward to attack. It is hard to focus on the fight as he convulses irregularly. He can hear screams, but he has no idea who is winning or losing. 

Suddenly, the temperature in the courtyard drops precipitously. A gust of wind blows over Zuko’s face, and he can feel an icy mist. A roar goes up in the crowd of protestors. He hopes this means victory, but he cannot hang on any longer.

His eyes slide shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd I end on another cliffhanger. 🙃 You're welcome.
> 
> An epilogue coming soon!


	5. Epilogue: A Child Found

Hakoda is surprised to find how well the role of grandfather suits him. Perhaps it is because he is lucky — after all, he does have the perfect granddaughter.

Little Kya is almost three years old and obsessed with animals. Hakoda dutifully gets on his hands and knees to help her make a snowman, only to find his assistance is then required to make a snow-penguin, a snow-polar-dog, and even a snow-badger mole. Hakoda has never actually seen a badger mole before, but Kya insists that she has.

“Aunty Toph has one in her backyard,” she explains as she attempts to give the mole a suitable face. It ends up looking rather lumpy, but Kya seems satisfied with it nonetheless. “Aunty Toph doesn’t like the ice, but Mommy says we’ll go see her in the spring. That’s when the badger moles have babies!"

Hakoda has been watching Kya for several hours on his own as her mother is otherwise occupied. Hakoda enjoys the time with his granddaughter. After all, Katara has chosen to live a rather nomadic lifestyle, so visits were not always frequent. Hakoda supposes this is the price for being an agent of peacekeeping; Katara went where she was needed, and she was usually needed everywhere at once.

Still, Katara had insisted that her second child be born in the South Pole, unlike Kya, who had arrived early in the newly-formed Republic City. Katara had come to the South Pole several weeks prior, just in case, which made Hakoda very happy. More time spent being a doting grandfather was always a treat for him, even if it did mean he spent rather a lot of time making snow animals.

Kya is distracted from her frozen menagerie by the appearance of her uncle.

“Uncle Sokka!” she shouts, racing over the ice to tackle his knees in a hug.

Sokka reaches down to grab Kya and toss her in the air. She shrieks in delight. Hakoda walks over at a more dignified pace.

“Hey, where’s your mom?” Sokka asks Kya.

Kya pouts and crosses her arms.

“She’s still getting the new baby. It’s taking _forever_.”

“Ah, yes. Babies are really slow, aren’t they?” Sokka sympathizes. “Well, good thing I got you a present!”

Kya squeals in excitement. Sokka pulls out a piece of moose-elk antler, carved into a large whistle. He blows on it as Kya looks awed. He hands it to her and she sets about whistling incessantly, marveling at her newfound musical skills.

“I’m sure your sister is going to love that,” Hakoda says to Sokka.

“Yeah, this might have been a mistake,” Sokka says nervously, realizing just how much noise Kya is making. “Oops.”

“How was the hunt?” Hakoda asks, changing the subject.

“Eh. Not great conditions today, but it gave the young guys a chance to test out their positioning. Amaqjuaq got a rabbit-fox on the way back. That kid is scrawny, but he’s got a killer instinct.”

“He is young. He’ll grow into his limbs. You were awkward at that age, too, and look at you now.”

Sokka’s reply is interrupted by Kya, who is shouting excitedly again.

“Aunty Suki! Look what Uncle Sokka got me!”

“Oh, wow!” Suki says, kneeling in front of Kya. She turns to give Sokka a questioning look. “You know Katara is going to kill you for this, right?”

Sokka groans. Kya merrily returns to her new whistle, now attempting to serenade her snow animals.

“Any news?” Suki asks.

Hakoda shakes his head. They all turn to look towards the healing huts where Katara labors. Even though Hakoda knows she is in good hands, he can’t help the twinge of worry. Even though his children have long since come of age, he often thinks of when they were young and needed his protection.

Almost ten years had passed since the end of the war, yet Hakoda still dreams of the battlefield. They had lost good men and women that day, but in the end, they had prevailed. The Avatar had returned to fight Ozai and strip him of his bending. Aang had not needed to kill Ozai in the end, although privately Hakoda thought this would have been a better course of action. Ozai had been shipped back to the Fire Nation, where he was sent to Boiling Rock for his crimes against the people. He survived only a week. When he was found dead in his cell, two dozen prisoners took credit for the murder. No one was ever charged. An ignominious end for the nation’s last Firelord.

The Democratic Republic of the Fire Nation quickly filled the power vacuum. Elections — real, fair elections — were held. It was a bit messy to start, but many of the rebels who fought against Ozai helped facilitate the transition and kept peace in the intermediate period. There was, of course, unrest — there were still disagreements and pockets of corruption that remained — but over time, the chaos quieted. Without the war, the heavy burdens of taxation and conscription lifted, and the world opened up again. 

The South Pole had changed more radically than almost anywhere else. Trade was finally possible, and with it came new inhabitants. Most were from the North Pole at first, young people looking for a fresh start, but now there were more Earth Kingdom migrants as well. Just two years prior, a small tea shop had been established, much to the delight of the village elders. In Hakoda’s opinion, its products were only matched by the original shop upon which it was based: the Jasmine Dragon, in Ba Sing Se, where he had visited Iroh once after the war. The tiny shop in the South Pole was run by kind woman named Ming and her teenaged son, Bolin. He had seemed unsure about life on the tundra at first, but Hakoda had been impressed by the boy’s swordsmanship. He already seemed to know several Southern style moves, and the boy had taken to moose-elk hunting like a fish to water. Hakoda often saw him training younger boys in the village square, and waved hello when he passed by. 

The most recent arrivals to the South Pole are Sokka and Suki, who have stepped down from their world-wide peacekeeping mission to a more local one. Sokka has spent a good deal of time in the South Pole over the years, even without the rest of his friends, and Hakoda knows that someday he will likely be elected chief. Nothing would make Hakoda prouder than to see his son recognized for his leadership and bravery, but he decides to stay on as chief for a few more years anyway, so long as the people continue to support him. Hakoda hopes that Sokka will use the interim time to establish himself more fully in the community. Rejoining the warriors for traditional hunts, taking part in trade decisions, and building new infrastructure for the expanding village is all well and good, but Hakoda specifically hopes that Sokka starts his own family. As much as Hakod loves Kya, he would be very happy to have even more grandchildren.

Hakoda knows that for many years, the issue for his son was the dueling loyalties between the Southern Water Tribe and the Kyoshi Warriors. After all, Suki was a powerful leader in her own right. Hakoda had seen her fearlessness in battle at the war’s end, and he knew how respected she was in her village. More than once, Hakoda had found Sokka near tears, torn over his duty to his people and his love for Suki. They had finally come to an agreement when Suki decided to hand the reigns to the next generation and a new leader of the Kyoshi Warriors. Hakoda had asked about this when she arrived in the South Pole for good.

“It was time,” Suki said a little wistfully. “I was trained for war. The new kids are training for peace. I needed to step aside and let them lead. Besides, you guys have the second-best tea shop in the world now. Between that and Sokka, what more could I want?”

Hakoda had not held back his tears of joy when Sokka and Suki were finally wed under the wide southern skies a few weeks later. Katara had teased him about it.

“You didn’t cry this much at my wedding. Should I be worried?”

“No,” Hakoda had replied, smiling. “I always knew you would follow your heart. I’m glad Sokka finally listened to his.”

Katara had given him a hug, although it had been difficult with her huge, pregnant belly. They had all feasted and toasted the new couple all night. Suki was a very welcome addition to the tribe, after all. Traditionally, only men were hunters, but Suki had struck down a rabbit-fox mid-sprint with one of her fans at fifty paces. The warriors were soon lining up for her to train them as well.

Hakoda is distracted from his memories by Kya’s cry of delight.

“Daddy!”

Kya tears down the street towards the healing huts and her father. Hakoda, Suki, and Sokka follow her quickly.

Kya’s golden eyes are alight with interest. Her father smiles.

“A boy,” Zuko says proudly.

Sokka and Suki let out excited cheers. Hakoda claps his hands. Kya pouts slightly — she had been rather hopeful for a baby sister — but she soon forgets her worries.

“Daddy, look what Uncle Sokka got me!”

Zuko smiles and kisses Kya’s head. She gives a loud demonstration of her whistle. Zuko waits until she is distracted.

“Seriously?” he mutters to Sokka. “Katara is going to kill you.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true,” Zuko shrugs. “Come on, Katara says she’s ready to see you all. Kya, snowflake, you can show Mommy the whistle, but you have to be quiet for your brother, okay? He’s sleeping.”

Kya acquiesces with some reluctance and Hakoda tries not to laugh. Aside from her eyes, Kya is the spitting image of her namesake; Hakoda has many memories of being on the receiving end of that look.

The healing hut is warmed by several large stones in the center of the room. This is a special feature that the tribe has adopted, especially for the newly built saunas. Sweat lodges had once been common in Hakoda’s youth, but the maintenance of such luxuries had become difficult over time. They had been revived with great gusto. It had been in one of these sauna’s that Hakoda had seen Zuko’s lightning scar for the first time. 

After the final battle against Ozai, Hakoda and some of his troops had sailed to the Fire Nation to help with the peaceful transition of power and to negotiate the terms of peace. He had found Katara in the infirmary wing of the palace, completely distraught.

“He tried to save me,” she sobbed into Hakoda’s chest. “And now he won’t wake up. It’s been _days_ and I’ve tried everything. I…”

Hakoda could only pat Katara weakly on the back. The sight of Zuko, chest covered in bandages, pale and lifeless, awakened a very particular memory. He remembered when he first found Zuko, shivering on the ice, hours from death.

“Have hope, Katara,” he had said. “Zuko is stronger than all of us.”

Hakoda had not felt so sure that hope would be enough to save Zuko, so he had offered extra prayers to Tui and La, just in case. Katara and Sokka joined him in making a small altar in a nearby courtyard. It seemed strange to build a Water Tribe shrine for a Fire Nation man in the seat of the nation’s power, but it had given them some comfort. 

Zuko had gotten better, albeit slowly. For the first few months after the war, he had stayed in the palace as a guest with Katara and Aang, who were helping in peace treaties. Hakoda was told that Zuko often visited his ailing sister, who was weak and addled after their terrible Agni Kai. Having been subdued by a waterbender in her own home seemed to have been too much for the Fire Princess. Hakoda had heard she was now the head of a rather powerful merchant fleet; he had not seen her himself, but some of her ships would come to trade supplies every so often. He had asked Zuko about this once as he hesitated to trade with her.

“Power is power to Azula. It doesn’t really matter where it comes from,” Zuko had said with a shrug. “Now she’s bossing around a bunch of industrialists and sailors. As long as her practices are fair — and I haven’t heard anything to the contrary — I think this is the best possible outcome for her, all things considered.”

Still, Hakoda shuddered to think what kind of woman could inflict such a terrible injury on her own brother. In the thick fog of the sauna, Zuko’s scar could still be seen from a great distance, a spidery web of electricity across his chest. Hakoda had noticed that Zuko had tried to hide his facial scar as a boy, especially from people who stared. But he does not do so with the scar on his chest, and he seems perfectly at ease when the younger men gape at it. Hakoda supposes it is a matter of perspective. A battle scar, especially one acquired in the service of protection, is something to wear with pride in the South Pole.

Hakoda keeps quiet as they approach Katara’s bed. She looks drained from her efforts, but she smiles widely when she spots them. A tiny bundle of blue furs is held snugly against her chest.

“Meet Tatsuo,” she says softly.

They gather to inspect the baby, Kya craning her head away from her father’s chest. Hakoda catches a glimpse of the baby’s face as he blinks sleepily.

“Blue eyes?” he asks hopefully.

Katara shakes her head.

“Too soon to tell. Kya’s eyes were like this at first. It might take a few months to be sure.”

“He is very beautiful,” Hakoda adds. He supposes all grandfathers feel this way about their grandchildren, but he knows his are the best. “Tatsuo is a strong name. Very Fire Nation.”

“Hey!” Kya says indignantly. “I want a Fire Nation name, too!”

“Ah, the sibling rivalry begins already,” Sokka jokes. 

“You do have one, sunspot,” Katara reminds her. “Your middle name, remember?”

“Oh,” Kya says, somewhat mollified. “Okay. When can I play with him? Look, I got a new whistle from Uncle Sokka!”

Katara shoots Sokka a fierce look. Sokka shrinks.

“Well, the baby needs to sleep a lot right now,” Zuko says, trying to smooth things over. “Maybe you can practice playing a song for him and when he’s bigger you can perform it?”

“Okay!” Kya says. She squirms in Zuko’s arms. “I want to sit with Mommy now.”

After some careful maneuvering, Kya is placed on the bed with Katara while Zuko scoops up little Tatsuo. His face softens as he gazes at his son. Hakoda holds back a laugh; he remembers his wife teasing him for having the same dumbstruck look on his face when Sokka and Katara were born.

Sokka and Suki peer down over Zuko’s shoulders at their nephew. Hakoda does not press the matter, but now _would_ be the perfect time to remind them that they, too, could have a baby of their own. He suspects this might ruin the moment, so he stays silent, waiting his turn to hold Tatsuo.

“Mommy, is Uncle Aang still coming to visit?”

“Yes, sunspot. He should be arriving tomorrow.”

“I’m going to show him my whistle!”

“Yes, make sure you practice _lots_ when you stay with Uncle Sokka and Aunty Suki tonight.”

“What have I done?” Sokka groans. Katara sticks out her tongue at him.

“Can’t I stay with you?” Kya mopes.

“The baby will make noise in the night,” Katara explains. “And Mommy and Daddy are very tired from today. It’s just one sleepover, and you’ll have lots of fun!”

“Yes,” Suki says kindly. “We can play zoo trip.”

Kya bounces with excitement. 'Zoo trip' is a favorite game of hers where she rides on Suki’s shoulders while Sokka imitates a variety of animals. The game is quite a hit, and many of the village children try to join in the fun if they can.

Hakoda’s gaze is drawn back to Zuko, who seems unable to tear his eyes away from his son. Hakoda thinks of another time when he saw such love radiating from his son-in-law. Zuko and Katara’s wedding day had been rather nontraditional — Hakoda had been a bit put out that they had not opted for a ceremony in the center of the village, like other Water Tribe couples — but he supposed that they were a rather unconventional duo in most ways. Hakoda and Kanna had sailed to Ember Island to a former home of the Royal Family — now a museum of Fire Nation artistry from the island locals — where they had stood on a bluff overlooking the sea. The ceremony had been beautiful; every thing and everyone was covered in fragrant, fresh flowers. Hakoda had never worn a lei before, but he thought it looked rather festive. The Avatar had certainly seemed to think so — by the end of the night, he had about a dozen strung around his neck. Hakoda had congratulated him heartily; for being such a lighthearted man, Aang had brought a solemn grace to his role as officiant. Hakoda had wiped discretely at his eyes more than once.

Zuko crosses the room to hand Hakoda his grandson. Hakoda eagerly extends his arms and cradles the infant close. It is difficult to say if the boy resembles his father or mother. While Hakoda loves his own children very much, he does not usually enjoy babies much. It is better when they can talk, like Kya, so he can figure out what they need. Still, there is a great sense of calm holding Tatsuo, a warmth radiating from his tiny body. Hakoda wonders if he will bend fire, or water, or nothing at all. It had been such a shock when Katara had developed her own waterbending that Hakoda was sure any guess now would be far from a sure thing. Tatsuo stirs but does not wake. Hakoda presses a soft kiss to the baby’s head, inhaling his warm, sweet scent.

He thinks back to the last time he held a newborn so closely, when Katara had been born. He can scarcely believe the woman she had become: a master waterbender, a skilled diplomat, a friend and teacher to the Avatar, a firebender’s wife. If someone had told him then what his daughter’s life had in store — and that Hakoda himself would be _happy_ about all these choices — he would have laughed in their face. That his daughter had become a fearsome warrior was certainly odd for the Southern Water Tribe, although he supposed the peacekeeping role was a bit more expected. Still, having ever imagined her as the Avatar’s trusted friend and ally would have been folly thirty years before. Strangest of all was the firebender at her side, lovingly stroking her hair as he listened to their daughter’s excited description of snow animals.

Hakoda looks back at the child in his arms, defenseless and tiny, surrounded by the cold, icy tundra. He thinks again of the fateful day he found Zuko on the ice, how he had seen him as a child and not a man. He thinks of the decision he made to spare Zuko’s life and to bring him back to the safety of their tribe.

He kisses Tatsuo’s warm forehead again. Hakoda has no regrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know after all that slow burn and angst, I gotta deliver the fluff.
> 
> Thank you all for reading - it's been fun to share this story. I hoped you enjoyed it and you go off and write your own adventures!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


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